


Playing With Fire

by ColdEmergency



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Death Eaters, Emotional Manipulation, Harry Needs a Hug, Harry is a Little Shit, Helga Hufflepuff's Cup, Horcruxes, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Prompt Fic, Prophecy (Harry Potter), Psychological Manipulation, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), The Author Regrets Nothing, Under the Influence of Horcruxes, but still evil, mentions of torture, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 54,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25160863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColdEmergency/pseuds/ColdEmergency
Summary: "Harry." Gone was the hissing tone of parseltongue. "I'm going to show you how easily love can be conquered, destroyed." And at that moment, Harry believed him.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 421
Kudos: 978
Collections: Harry Potter, Harrymort/Tomarry Recs for the Soul, Tomarry fic collection best read





	1. Consequences of Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter universe, I do not take credit or ownership of any of the characters and universe. I do not make money off of these stories. All belong to J.K Rowling and the Warner Bro Company. I'm just here for a good time.
> 
> This fic is based on a prompt from a Reddit user. I was given permission to use it, and use it I will!  
> The prompt: Rather than leaving him to rot in an orphanage, Tom Riddle Sr. actually raises his son, providing him with the love and support he never received in canon. Somehow, this results in a more competent and terrifying Voldemort.
> 
> This fic takes place during book 5, and splinters off. Obvious non-canon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 11/08/2020

Harry Potter had made many mistakes in his life. None had ever been as bad as this. The Boy-Who-Lived was going to die, and he had no one to blame but himself. He should have just waited, he should have listened to Ron and Hermione. Instead, he ran headfirst to the Ministry of Magic, blinded by his need to save Sirius’ life. He should have known something was wrong when neither Ron nor Hermione followed him through the Floo. 

Harry had left no room to argue after telling his friends to alert the order before he threw himself into the green flames. He had tumbled out, landing with no grace into the very eerie, _very empty_ Atrium. He used his hands to push himself up, feeling the polished dark wood under his digits. The Atrium’s appearance was much more sinister when empty. There were no crowds to fill in the spaces and Harry couldn’t remember it being this large. 

He only took a few steps before turning around to gaze at the floo. No one followed him through the fireplace and Harry realized his big mistake immediately, thinking he could do this alone. Surely they would follow him in, tell him how stupid he’d been thinking he had to save everyone. Thinking that he had to shoulder this burden without them. _He wished they would come through and tell him._

Every second wasted waiting, however, was another second Sirius was being tortured. He didn’t have to think twice. 

He began to run through the room, the ornate fireplaces on both sides of him inactive. The bubbling noise from the water in the large fountain was the only sound other than his worn sneakers, they padded heavily against the wood. Not a single flying memo was seen, nor whir from the offices above heard. Harry’s hearing became hypersensitive, and any action he made he could account for, even his breathing was loud. 

His wand dropped into his hand as he neared the desk for security, it was out of fear rather than habit. This was so odd, _so odd._ He could remember having his wand checked here just last year, the anxiety he felt then was palpable. Now it was bordering on panic. Where was everybody? He knew he didn’t have time to ponder. 

Pushing on he passed the desk without another thought, letting himself through the golden gates. He beelined to the elevator directly in front of him. He supposed the trip would be a very short one, as he was the only living being here. His elevator wouldn’t need to visit every floor, _there was only one stop for him_. 

He stepped into the open lift and grabbed the handle on the strange mechanism with a shaking hand. He turned it until the golden hole sat neatly over the number 9, the doors closed in response.

Much like any other form of magical transportation, Harry was unable to brace himself. The lift simply went down, Harry was immediately thrown off balance as he was expecting any other direction. His mind was racing, he had to remind himself that this elevator didn’t need to dodge others to get to its destination. It was only logical that it would descend easily to level 9, as the Atrium was level 8. 

Taking a deep breath, Harry raised his wand. He would be ready. His heart was beating so fast and it only seemed to go faster when the lift came to a stop. A loud dinging indicated his arrival and the scissor gates folded themselves in response.

“Department of Mysteries.” rang out. The robotic voice did nothing to ease his growing restlessness, not when he was staring at the door. The same one he’d been seeing in his dreams. 

_Sirius._

Harry ran. He couldn’t hear screams, and that only pushed him to go faster. Screaming meant he was alive, screaming meant still breathing. Silence was the worst sound in this scenario. 

Harry ran so fast that the black tiles on the floors and walls melted into each other. All he could see was his goal, the door. Still holding his wand, Harry reached for the handle with his free hand. The door gave way, there was no time for subtlety. 

The teen threw it open, his godfather's name on the tip of his tongue. Yet it stayed there. 

Whatever Harry was expecting, it wasn’t a pitch-black room. A sea of black swam in front of him, without the light source from the hallway one would think there was no room at all. Harry cast a quiet Lumos before he took his first few steps. This revealed to him shelves upon shelves, filled with orbs. 

This was looking more like the vision he had, yet there was still a serious lack of Sirius. The door shut slowly behind him and started drifting away. Everything felt like slow motion, it was so odd. Harry began to walk forward, holding his wand up to light the way. The shelves had plaques, and the orbs swirled. It was dizzying.

The rows looked never-ending as he continued forward, it very well may have been. There was still so much Harry didn’t know about magic, something told him endless rooms were a possibility. Luckily, he only had to find row 97. 

He began to walk faster, counting up in his head as the numbers rose. He flew by the thirties, barely registering the shelves in the sixties. He became disoriented and he started to count aloud, needing to keep track.

“92, 93, 94-” He darted forward to the cross-section between shelves 96 and 97. _There was nothing._ He whipped around, looking in every direction he could. The floor held no clues. He stood exactly where his godfather had been. Or maybe had never been. 

Reaching up to grasp at his fringe Harry let out a frustrated huff, he pulled on his hair painfully. This wasn’t right. A whispered voice startled the teen and he pointed his wand towards the direction. There wasn’t anyone he could see, but upon closer inspection, he realized one of the orbs in the direction of the sound glowed brighter than the rest. The ghostly swirls were captivating, and the whispers were coming from it. 

It wasn’t saying anything audible, yet he somehow knew that it was calling out to him. The teen took a step forward, then another. The plague below this one had his name on it. 

_S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter.[1]_

With his free hand, he reached for the orb. He hesitated before his flesh met glass, but only for a split second, and grabbed it. A face appeared within the fog just before the whispering started.

 _“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…”_ [2]

The hairs on the back of his neck raised as goosebumps spread across his skin, Harry turned around. The light at the tip of his wand bounced off a shiny reflective surface, a mask. Harry held his wand higher, staring at the person who stood in place. The figure began to approach him cautiously.

“And here I thought this couldn’t get any easier,” Harry knew this voice. The figure held up his wand in a nonthreatening way, dissolving his mask. “Harry Potter. All alone?” Lucius Malfoy drawled. He looked _absolutely delighted_. Harry felt the exact opposite. He would have been completely screwed being caught here, had the Death eater not stared hungrily at the orb. The only leverage he had, was the glass ball he held. Harry wasn’t afraid to use it.

“I’ll drop it.” The senior Malfoy’s joy fell from his face as Harry raised his arm.

“You don’t want to do that, Harry. ” The man smiled, showing two rows of perfect teeth. Harry was pretty sure the only reason the man was being so civil, was because Harry had the advantage. The elder Malfoy continued to advance slowly. As if any sudden movement would cause Harry to drop it, or run. His arms were out and away from his body, trying to make himself seem less like a danger to Harry.

“Sirius isn’t here.” It was less of a question, more of a statement.

“My my, so you _do_ have a brain. No. He isn't here, he never was. You should hope the Dark Lord never gets his hands on that degenerate.” Harry scowled. “Now, give me,” Lucius held his hand out. “The prophecy.” It took Harry only a second to form a half-assed plan.

“No thanks- Stupefy! Nox.”[3] The spell was easily deflected, but it gave Harry enough time to duck out of sight. Lucius hadn’t had his own light cast so they were bathed in darkness. Harry didn’t truly have a plan at all, but winging it was one of his better talents. He felt along a shelf and quietly shuffled as fast as he could. He just needed to find the door. _The moving door._

A shelf down someone muttered a quiet Lumos, and Harry realized that Lucius wasn’t alone.

“Find him. Find him now!” Using the light from the other wizards’ wand, Harry bolted down the skinny hallway. He hadn’t always been the smartest, but he sure as he was fast. 

_“I saw him!”_

_“He’s over there!”_

A beam of light flashed over his shoulder, and he knew he was being chased. Lucius shouted something angrily somewhere to his left, so he turned right and kept running. 

“Where are you ickle-baby-Potter? Come out and play!” Bellatrix’s singsong voice rang out. 

_Why couldn’t Harry just catch a break?_

She started cackling, and it was the only warning he got before her body slammed into his. The force of the collision sent both straight into one of the many shelves, Harry held onto the prophecy for dear life while he fell off-kilter. His elbow smashed into a metal bracket, and some part of Bellatrix rammed into the back of his left knee, causing it to give out. Harry’s right knee took the brunt of his weight. 

The witch lost balance as well, landing on the floor beside him. She grunted loudly, before latching onto Harry’s pant leg. He could feel her nails piercing his skin through the fabric. 

“Give it to me. Give it-give it- _give it_!” Harry did the first thing that came to mind and used his free foot to kick Bellatrix in the face. He was granted a sickening crunch, and a shriek to follow.

“Get off!” he wound his leg and kicked again. Bellatrix let go of Harry in favor of shielding her face, which was now streaming blood from her nostrils down to her chin. She growled like a wild animal, and Harry knew he had only seconds. Getting up from the ground he limped painfully, trying his best to lean off his right knee. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, and to his relief, it wasn't a Death Eater. Fortunately, it was the door, perfectly timed. He hobbled to his right, he was only ten feet away when an explosive white spell blew past him. It hit the rack of prophecies to his immediate left, and orbs began tumbling off. 

They shattered one by one into masses of dust. The wisps of untold words being set free into the air. They weren’t the only falling objects, however, as the entirety of the shelving units started careening forward as well. The sound of the metal mixed with the glass clashing together was deafening, Harry had never heard anything like it. He pushed himself to go faster, ignoring his knee.

“What did you do?” Lucius was yelling, probably to whoever had thrown the spell. He’d bet all his money in his vaults that it was Bellatrix. He wasn’t feeling lucky enough to turn around to find it out. 

With the last bit of strength he had, Harry pushed the door. He was prepared to find the same hallway as before, with the lift at the end. What he was not expecting was there to be _no floor at all._

He fell, instinctively holding both his arms out to catch himself before hitting the ground. Right before impact he simply stopped mid-air, suspended by some sort of magic before dropping the rest of the way safely. He laid there for a second, glancing at his hand that held the prophecy, his prophecy. It was fine. He wished he could say the same about his knee though. 

The adrenaline decided that at this moment it was no longer needed. The pain blossomed, and he could feel his heartbeat under his kneecap. The spot just beside it throbbed ferociously, he most certainly tore something. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, and he choked out a sob. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. He didn’t want to die here. He didn’t want to die.

“Your tears are wasted here, Harry.” Lucius appeared before him in a pillar of black smoke. Standing with his white mane, looking completely winded. Furious. Harry shuffled away as best as he could with his elbows before trying to sit up. 

Lucius stalked towards him, his voice getting quieter once he spoke again. “This could all be over quickly if you’d just give it to me.” Harry imagined that this was what his voice would sound like if he was trying to soothe Draco after scraping his knee after falling off his broom. “He can be merciful.” 

Harry didn’t know what possessed him, but he felt rage curl in his chest.

"No!” The teen roared before he whipped the orb against the stony bed between the two wizards. It smashed, like the others, and the wisps of his prophecy floated away. 

Instead of being angry, Lucius fell to his knees in a pathetic attempt to get closer to the dust. With an expression of grief, the man tried to salvage the pieces of the glass. It wasn’t what Harry had expected.

“What have you done?” The Death eater whispered, clearly distraught. When his eyes looked up and met his, Harry could see the fear etched in them. He was afraid, _and Harry understood why_. This was his task, set out by Voldemort, and he failed it. 

He wondered what was waiting for Lucius now, surely one could only fail the Dark Lord so many times. 

“You will die.” The blonde man's face turned fierce, the lines in his face aging him. Lucius stood up from his crouched position and took two long strides towards Harry, who could only sluggishly inch away. The elder Malfoy grabbed hold of Harry’s arm violently, the next moment all Harry knew was smoke. He was wretched away suddenly, flying through the air. Lucius had half-apparated and pulled Harry along. 

The teen couldn’t see, and it was loud as the wind whipped past his ears. He was forcefully thrown to and fro, unable to get his bearings. Just when he thought he’d vomit, they stopped, and Harry was propelled forward out of the smoke. He was whipped hard enough that when he’d hit the ground he actually slid a bit. It jarred his knee badly, and he painfully smacked the side of his face against the dark wood. They were back in the Atrium. 

Harry cried out once again, attempting to move, to flee, to do anything. But Lucius had other plans and stepped onto Harry’s back, digging his heel into the Boy-Who-Lived’s spine, holding him down in a humiliating way. 

“Now hush while I call your death, Potter,” Lucius growled, and every fiber in Harry’s being screamed at him to move. He knew what came next. He didn’t even have his wand, he must have dropped it in the room after falling. 

He couldn’t see what Lucius was doing, but he could hear clothing rustle, and the man fell silent. Harry was about to tell the older wizard to sod off when a resounding crack filled the air. The change in atmosphere was immediate. Harry could feel Him, the magic was suffocating. 

_Lord Voldemort was here, and Harry had never felt so helpless._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] and [2] are both direct quotes from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Chapter 34 (The Department of Mysteries) - J.K. Rowling
> 
> [3] There is no solid evidence that spells cannot be cast while Lumos is activated. In the movies, Snape is able to use his wand to try and reveal the Marauders Map while using it. Considering Lumos needs to be deactivated by another spell, I’m taking liberty with it as a passive spell that stays put, but allows you to use other spells while doing so. Otherwise, Nox wouldn’t work.


	2. A New Beginning

Harry tried desperately to wiggle out from under Lucius’ foot, it was in vain. He shifted the best he could, turning his head slowly to where he knew Voldemort stood. His glasses had fallen halfway off his face during his fall, and Harry could see the dark silhouette standing motionless. He couldn’t have been more than thirty feet away from him and the Death Eater. Even when blurred, the Dark Lord’s presence was menacing, formidable. What made the scene more unnerving was that he was still, so still. He could have been mistaken as another decoration in the Atrium, had his magic not swirled angrily in the air, making it almost heavy . Harry could taste it. It had always affected him greatly. The weight on his back was finally lifted, and Harry drew in a heaping breath.

“My Lord.” Lucius bowed low, nose almost to the floor. The magic in the air stopped and began moving in the other direction, the word displeased formed in his head. Voldemort was vexed.

“Crucio.” Harry flinched violently, but the spell was not for him. The Death Eater beside him dropped like a stone, his nose actually touched the floor. The screams that formed made Harry’s stomach clench, and he desperately backed off. The torture spell had taken both he and Lucius off guard, Harry still wasn’t sure why he wasn’t being tortured instead. The blonde man's back arched off the ground, and his limbs were shaking as he screamed himself coarse. Harry knew the pain he was feeling. It was like all your bones being shattered over and over, your skin melting, but also freezing. Your body hurt in places you didn’t think could hurt. Your insides getting toyed with, hot needles stabbing through every blood cell. Your veins sending liquid molten into every muscle. Harry pitied any man under that curse. He was able to turn himself around, using his arms to push himself to a sitting position, he wasn’t stupid enough to think he could run in his current state. Harry fixed his glasses, and it only made the scene worse, now that it was in focus. The curse was finally lifted, and Lucius trembled. His breathing heavy, uneven. “Don’t ever attempt to summon me in that way ever again, Lucius.” Voldemort's voice rang out clearly, a quiet fury closely behind it. Red eyes jumped from one form to another. Harry had hoped Voldemort forgot about him. “Never you, dear Harry.” He hated the way his name sounded on the man's nonexistent lips.

The Dark Lord took in Harry’s position, and a spark of amusement passed over their link. Harry tried to send back all his hate, imagining a tube that he began stuffing full.

“So young , so full of hatred .”

“At least I’m not full of shit .” He bit back. Resentment replaced the amusement, and Harry cursed himself for not knowing when to shut up.

“No, instead you are filled with false hope. Lies. Weaknesses. ” He spoke quickly, voice hissing, his wand twitching in his white claws. “ You’re pathetic , Harry Potter.” He finally started to move towards his target. Harry sat frozen, his tired bones refusing to move another inch. The teen could do nothing but watch helplessly as Voldemort descended upon him. Closer and closer until-

“The prophecy M’lord.” Lucius’ voice grumbled, ceasing the Dark Lords prowl. Voldemort stared hard into Harry’s eyes. A silent promise of pain to come.

“ Where is it?” Red eyes were trained on his, but the question was not directed to him. Lucius coughed, it sounded wet.

“ He smashed it ,” Voldemort’s eyes hardened, but he still did not move. “I failed you - I’m sorry My Lord.” Harry thought the man might start weeping, if he had not already been. Lucius Malfoy was surely dead, and it was because of Harry. Because of a dumb prophecy that didn’t even make all that much sense.

“Ah, yet you have not failed me, my loyal follower.” Voldemort’s features softened for a moment, then morphed into something terrifying. A look of triumph. Harry felt goosebumps again. “The prophecy is before me, as I ordered. Isn’t it Harry?” Fear licked up his spine. Shit. He knew what was coming but his eyes wouldn’t close fast enough, and Voldemort dived. A hissed legilimens , and Harry folded into himself unable to fight against it. Voldemort violently ripped through his mind, show me , a flash of Bellatrix’s bloody face was pulled forward, then discarded. Harry watched on in horror as Voldemort backtracked the evening's events, shredding them into pieces. Ruining him . He could feel Voldemort latch onto it all, his fingernails etching deeply into his core. His head hurt, it felt like his brain was being cut open. Another memory flashed, this time of a blue orb , shining brighter than all the others. Yessssss. Show me. He hadn’t a choice in the matter. The talons reached in, grabbing the edges of the memory wrenching it open, and he was forced to re-watch the prophecy word for word. 

Delight swelled inside him, but it wasn't his. 

“Oh, Harry.” The world came back too soon. His eyes were on fire, brain throbbing from the assault. He cried out, and tried to sooth his aching head with his hands. Feeling for the phantom fingerprints. He felt violated. “This is precious . A power I know not?” The snake faced man whispered. “ Love holds no power in this world, Harry. It is a chemical reaction of the brain, nothing better than hate nor sadness.”

“You know nothing of love. You’re a monster .” Visions of Hermione and Ron involuntarily rose to the forefront of his mind. Hermione’s bushy hair and brilliant smile. Ron’s countless freckles splattering his whole body, his family welcoming him as if he were one of them. Sirius’ barking laugh, and a hidden feeling of his mother’s hug. Love was so powerful. Love was his strength.

“Don’t I?” Mirth laced the man's words. “You speak as if you know me. As if you’ve seen into my soul as I have yours. You have not Harry Potter. Whatever you’ve been told of me was lies, heresy. Dumbledore claims I don’t feel, when I feel everything. ” Voldemort began walking, not closing in, but arching around Harry. The teen followed him with his eyes, afraid to move anything else. “I was raised by my muggle father. Given everything I wanted. He read to me, held me. He told me stories of great men. He gave me the best of everything. I learned unconditional love from him.” Harry was unsure at where this was all going. His stomach was in knots. “I realized that this love, this affection- was holding me back from my own greatness. So I severed it. I killed the one person who understood me. I killed my father, Harry Potter. Because he was my weakness, but no more.” The man circled him further, and Harry lost sight of him momentarily.

"So you see Harry- '' Lord Voldemort's voice started matter of factly, "I know love. I was given it, I was bathed in it. I know the ins and outs of love. I know the boundaries, the lengths people will go for just a feel of it." The skeletal face came into view, stark against the dark blue tile of the ministry. He circled the teen, floating in his robe, seemingly ready to strike at any given moment. Harry didn't doubt that Voldemort would go for the neck. He swallowed thickly at the thought, his every movement was watched. The cloaked figure stopped abruptly, no more than ten feet away from Harry. "The power of love?" He cooed, almost sweetly. If not for his monstrous appearance, Voldemort would be able to pull it off seemingly genuine. The pale features morphed from their faux gentle, and he smiled nastily. His lip-less grin stretched across his teeth, a gateway to true evil. "I have bested love, time and time again. I have ripped it away from my own heart, it is a tangible item. So tell me boy savior..." Harry couldn't move, he was frozen in place. He felt hopeless panic rise in his throat as Voldemort in all his dark glory approached him. Slowly, predator who finally has come to claim its prey,

"What will you do now that your weapon of choice no longer holds its power?" He was on Harry now, green eyes to crimson. His bony hand appeared out of its sleeve, striking. Grabbing at Harry's black locks, forcing him to stare directly up into his face. Harry thought about spitting into his face, as a last attempt of disobedience. But he couldn't seem to get any part of him to work. Where was his wand when he needed it most?

"Harry." Gone was the hissing tone of parseltongue. "I'm going to show you how easily love can be conquered, destroyed." And in that moment, Harry believed him. “I’m going to show you greatness- your own and mine. I will break you down, and build you up again. ” The teen found his will, and began fighting against Voldemort’s grip. He tried to detach the man's fingers from his locks, but the bony digits only held on tighter. He was startled when Voldemort started walking, pulling Harry along with him by his hair.

“Let go- ” He tried to catch his footing, but his knee wouldn’t allow him, buckling painfully. He reached for the Dark Lord's arm, pulling at it. He was given only temporary relief. “Get off! Let go of me-” He hissed desperately, slipping into parseltongue. His only response was a harsh tug. His jeans sliding against the wooden floor caused a small amount of friction, his sneakers squeaking as he kicked his good leg. He felt hysterical, he started hyperventilating. He was being dragged to his death, literally.

“No Harry, you’re being dragged to a new beginning.” He was dropped suddenly, only to have his arm jerked roughly. Harry was gripped fiercely, and then was apparated for the second time that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but some Voldie finally! I have a bad headache, so I can't write anymore today.
> 
> I promise the next chapter will be longer <3


	3. Unknown Secrets, Revealed

This time when landing, Harry did vomit. The impact of it forced him to jar his knee, that added with the already terribly gut wrenching sensation caused him to lose all his dinner. Voldemort had released Harry’s arm from his bruising grip, letting the teen fall onto all fours. He heaved violently all over a nice rug. Harry hoped it would stain and smell forever.

“One would hope not , Harry. As this will be your room for the foreseeable future.” Merlin's beard, there was no way .

“You can’t- you can’t keep me. ” He responded incredulously, looking up at his captor. He was supposed to kill him . Or the other way around, if the prophecy was to be held true. Voldemort was toying with him. He had to be .

“Oh I very well can . ” The switch into parseltongue was so smooth, Harry almost missed it. “Understand this, Harry. **I. Have. Won.** ” The glee in those words, and the joy fed through the link almost made Harry get sick again. Almost. “There are things Dumbledore never told you, secrets he kept from you.”

“What else is new.” He muttered, Voldemort ignored him. Instead the Dark Lord leaned down, reaching out to touch Harry’s hair again. His demeanor changed again.

“Have I ever lied to you Harry?” As soon as contact was made Harry flinched away violently, swiping at the intruding limb. He used his hands to drag himself away, fisting the rug. He didn’t want to have a conversation with Voldemort. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the man- the monster.

“Don’t- don’t talk to me like that . Like you know me -“ Voldemort let him flee, he probably enjoyed this. Watching Harry struggle.

“Don’t I? I know you better than you know yourself. I have seen into your head Harry, your heart, your soul.” Thoroughly creeped out, he made to turn around, struggling to sit in a position that gave him relief from his knee. He faced Voldemort who had made it a show to clench his fist closed, and stand to his full height. Harry was able to move a couple feet away during his small panic. 

“Well stop it . Leave my soul alone. It doesn’t like you. ” Was his a childish response, Harry didn’t feel like acting grown up right now. Delight flooded the link, his retort made Voldemort happy.

“Your soul calls to mine. Your soul is mine.” Harry could not believe this creep-fest. This was taking insane to a new level. 

“Pretty sure it’s not.” He countered, crossing his arms. I’ll fight you , he thought hard, I’ll fight you on everything. Keep talking, I dare you. I can do this all night.

“What do you know about soul magic, Harry?” He was caught off guard by the sudden change back to English, and the change of subject.

“I-what?” He didn’t know a thing about soul magic. There were probably dozens of types of magics that he didn’t know about. He’d only recently found out that zombies existed, under a different name of course, but still. Was Voldemort mocking him? Or was this some weird way to find out if Harry knew about this obscure branch of magic?

“I was curious to know if Dumbledore told you anything at all. Your reaction speaks for itself.” What did Dumbledore know? “He knows a great many things,” Venom laced every word. His eyes darkened. “But I know more.” The Dark Lord paused, and looked down at Harry as if he were an intriguing puzzle. “Do you want to know what I think, Harry?”

“No, not really . But you seem to be in a talkative mood so you’re probably going to tell me anyways.” Hot anger flashed in the link, and Harry would have missed it if they hadn’t been connected. Voldemort’s face revealed nothing. It was as if Harry never said anything. But Harry wasn’t easily tricked. There was a storm behind that seemingly calm. 

“I think you’re angry with Dumbledore .”

“I’m no-“

“Angry that he’s never told you anything. That you’ve been kept in the dark your whole life, always last to know. ”

“That’s not true- “ but it was. He was angry about it, it didn’t feel good to never know what was going on. He knew it, and so did Voldemort. 

“Did you ever get a straight answer as to why there is such a bond between us, Harry?” Harry merely frowned, he didn’t need to respond, Voldemort already knew the answer. “You Harry Potter are the keeper of my soul. This link between us, our bond ,” the impossibly tall figure took a step towards him, Harry stayed put, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of slinking away. His eyes became bright, as if this was the best moment of his life. ”is soul magic that was inadvertently cast and has now since concreted itself in our beings.” This was insane. This wasn’t real. It was wrong. 

“You are my horcrux , living container of my soul . Mine.” The word horcrux meant nothing to him, but he could feel that it meant everything to Voldemort. It scared him.

“Dumbledore would have told me.” It felt false coming out of his mouth.

“Would he?” They both knew the answer to that as well. Harry felt ill. “No, he would have kept this piece of information from you until he had no other choice but to tell you. That is how he works, the inner mind of that man cares not for others. He speaks about kindness, fights in his righteous wars. Yet the only thing he cares for truly is his warped sense of the greater good.” Harry wanted to disagree, wanted to defend his Headmaster. But the words coming from Voldemort rang true. The teen felt numb, a sense of apathy washed over him. 

“What does it mean, being a horcrux? ” He asked, only because he knew Voldemort wanted him to ask. The blur between the link was making it hard for him to differentiate between their wants.

“It means Harry, that you are a direct tie to my immorality. I cannot die while you live.”

“But the prophecy-”

“Has become null.” Irritation.

“You killed my parents because of it, you tried to kill me-” Voldemort held his hand up, a motion to be silent. Harry surprisingly obeyed.

“I will admit, I had not heard the entirety of the prophecy before my attack. I was certain you were my downfall, that was all. Had I known that my own actions would seal the prophecy, I wouldn’t have taken them. At least not the way I had.” Harry didn’t even know what to say. What could he say? ‘Oh hey, it's really great that you would have killed my parents in a different way. Thanks for that. Really appreciate it. Lets hug it all out.’

“It doesn’t change anything.” A sting of frustration. The hissed reply,

“It changes everything. Don’t you understand yet? The war has been won. You, the only person able to defeat me, is now missing. There will be no rescue, there will be no escape. No one will know where you are until I deem it so, no one will know you live unless I WILL it to be so.” It was Harry’s turn to be frustrated. He grabbed his hair, tugging it.

“So what- you're just going to keep me here? Lock me away forever?” He glared up at the man. “I’ll get away, you know I will-”

“I have no doubt you’ll try, but there will be no foolish loopholes. Your ridiculous dumb luck has ended. Fate favors Lord Voldemort.” The Dark Lord raised his wand, Harry stared defiantly at it, and then Voldemort hissed out “Alligatus anima mea, tenetur a sanguine.” Harry’s heart hammered in his chest, but he forced himself to stay still. He wouldn’t give Voldemort the gratification of flinching away anymore. No spell came out of his wand however, and Harry felt no differences in the air.

“What did you do?” Voldemort ignored him, Harry could feel that whatever happened was not good for him. Voldemort's side of the link buzzed with something akin to pride.

“You are not permitted to leave this room. The doors and windows have been warded shut under my own means, they will not move for you. Should you attempt to leave you will find immediate consequences, and you will not enjoy them.”

“Wait- what do you-”

“I’ve answered enough of your questions, Harry.” the Dark Lord declared. Before Harry could counter argue that he hadn’t really answered that many questions, the Dark Lord blinked out of existence with a resounding crack. The bastard had just apparated away.

“You absolute twat! ” The teen yelled at empty air. It felt nice, shouting forbidden words aloud, so he kept going. “You bag of dicks ! Wanker, megalomaniac, tosser ,” He began running through every insulting word he could think of. Pushing with all his might through the link. He didn’t know if direct words went through or if Voldemort only felt the impressions like he did. Either way, he was going to throw so much shit at him. “Nutter, pillock- NINNYBERK!” Harry screamed so loud he startled himself. He sat in silence for a while. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. Either way the world outside was dark and he was alone. His shoulders began trembling, and Harry began laughing. Whether it was from nervousness, anger, or simply because ‘ninnyberk’ was rolling around in his head now, he didn’t know. He laughed until his stomach started cramping up, then he swiftly started to sob. If Voldemort was telling the truth, then no one else would be around. The thought gave him comfort, and he allowed himself a cry loudly, unhinged. It was a wet, ugly mess. The kind of crying that had your nose running as much as your eyes. The kind of cry that made it hard to breath, and usually ended up gasping for air. His own bawling sounded horrible, but he found he couldn’t stop. 

He hadn’t cried like this since Vernon accidentally broke his arm when pulling him out of the cupboard. He was forced to make breakfast still, pushed around and told to ‘suck it up’ . Only when his arm swelled to the size of Dudley’s did they listen to Harry’s cries. He was taken to the hospital, where he had to lie and say he fell out of a tree . He had been seven, and terrified. He was hurting, afraid, and the nurses berated him for being so careless. He was still made to do his chores when they got home. Harry was sure without his magic, the break would never have healed properly.

He hated Vernon. He hated Dudley. He hated his aunt, and nurses. He hated his teachers in elementary who pretended not to notice his bruises. He hated Voldemort for killing his parents, and he absolutely hated Dumbledore for putting him with the Dursley’s in the first place. He was whimpering now, feeling exhausted from his strange little tantrum. The link was quiet, and he was beginning to think Voldemort could control it. If not, the man was very good at not responding to Harry acting hysterical on the other end. He hoped Voldemort felt it all. 

Taking a deep breath in, Harry allowed himself a moment of peace. He supposed his escape wasn’t going to happen with him sitting in the middle of the room. He started looking around, and realized he was in complete darkness again. He didn’t have his wand to light it up this time, so he’d need to find the switch. Maneuvering his way onto his hands and knees, Harry painstakingly crawled slowly across the carpet, and to where the door was. Most houses had a light switch along the same wall. He approached the wall and held his left hand out, feeling for the wall. His finger met a cold surface, and he started feeling around. Within a minute he found what he was looking for and flicked the switch on. Feeling entirely drained, he allowed himself to rest against the wall, gazing to his cage. The room was a decent size, big enough for a queen sized bed along with a matching set of desk and dresser and room to boot. Both the surfaces were bare, not even a lamp. There was a big empty space in the center of the room, where the thick black carpet sat. Looking to his left he could see another door, it must be the bathroom. Surely Voldemort wasn’t evil enough to lock him in a room and expect him to shit on the floor. He imagined what expression the man would make if he apparated back in to see that Harry had indeed shit on the floor. Somewhere in between disgust, and incredulousness. What would it look like if Voldemort tried to wrinkle his nonexistent nose? The thought made him snicker, and he felt a minuscule spark of curiosity. Voldemort was curious as to what he was finding so funny. He was locked in a room by himself, with nothing to do. Surely nothing could be amusing. He tried to push his best feeling of ‘wouldn’t you like to know’ through the link, and it immediately snapped shut. 

“I knew it!” Of course a master legilimens would also practice occlumency. Voldemort was doing what Snape was supposed to teach him to do. That bastard. If he didn’t have such a hate-on for Harry he might have actually gotten somewhere with that. Then he would never have received that fake vision. He could be warm in bed at Hogwarts, but instead he was here. The only good thing to happen was he got to literally kick Bellatrix Lestrange in the face. Merlin it felt good. Harry wondered if he had her blood on the bottom of his sneaker. That thought actually grossed him out. In fact, now that he was looking at himself, he was covered in dust. From being rammed into, thrown, dragged and stepped on he was absolutely filthy. A hot shower sounded really nice. A sharp throb from his knee made him think a bath might be better. With his new task in hand, Harry gathered the strength he needed to crawl over to the bathroom(?). Merlin , he hoped it was a bathroom. 

One limb at a time, he crawled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort is trying very hard guys. He's high on victory, and allowing Harry to get away with so much right now. I wonder how long that'll last.
> 
> Tell me in the comments what your favorite British insult is- Mines wanker.  
> Ninnyberk (its actually two separate insult Harry mushed together in his fit of outbursts) is growing on me.


	4. End of the Old Era

“It’s time Albus.” McGonagall said to end the silence that had overtaken the office. All the remaining members of the Order had gathered in the Headmaster Office along with the Professors, bar Severus Snape, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Hestia Jones. The latter two were currently surveying the grounds and guarding it. The news of Harry’s inevitable demise surfaced quickly after the Ministry had been overthrown. Everything had gone wrong so fast. Dumbledore paced back and forth behind his desk, his old hand latched onto his beard.

“It cannot be-”

“You are the only one who can stop him. Why must you rely on this prophecy so relentlessly?”

“Harry must be the one to stop him.”

“Harry is a child, a boy!” The shrill woman bellowed. “He has had to bare this burden for too long, this is not his war. It is yours.” Her tone left no place for argument. Albus stopped his pacing. Was she right? Had he been blinded by mere words? No. He had heard the prophecy, he had been there. It was absolute. His mind was reeling. Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley had been caught trying to escape through the Floo Network, and Umbridge had caught them. They had been questioned, and Hermione had told them that Harry had run to Dumbledore. She told them Dumbledore was indeed in the Department of Mysteries, in hopes that Umbridge would alert the authorities, and Aurors would be dispatched. She had been quick on her feet, trying to think of anyway to get Harry some sort of support. When questioned further, she had looked into Snape’s eyes and said repeatedly “It’s Sirius.” To Umbridge, it sounded like she was relaying that it was serious. Which were both true. 

Delores Umbridge needed order, and she would get it. Snape’s services were no longer needed, and he immediately alerted the Order, then was summoned by the Dark Lord and Heed his call. The message hadn’t made much sense, but they were able to sort out that Harry was at the Ministry of Magic because of Sirius. The animagus had no idea as to what was going on, after brief questioning they all agreed the only goal was to find Harry, and make sure he was safe. The Order was dispatched and the first problem they encountered was that the Floo Network to the Atrium was swamped. It was anarchy. There must have been back up in the transportation. A gross influx of wizards trying to go through all at the same time perhaps. Tonk’s had stood in the green flames constantly repeating “Ministry of Magic!” Yet she remained in the fireplace. Things were not faring better on the other side. [1]

The Death Eaters had gathered in the Atrium, one of the followers shot a morsmordre and it swam above the fountain hauntingly. When the Aurors got word of something amiss at the Ministry, they had all Floo’d and were the first to witness the carnage. Ministry officials were lined up, execution style, Death Eaters lined the walls. A large group of workers for the Ministry, who were supposed to be on guard or working in their offices that evening, were terrified. They had been incarcerated or incapacitated by magic. Forced to bare witness to the planning. The Aurors had no choice but to put their wands down and surrender. Least they hit innocents. It was a total take over. One of the most surprising parts was that there was a group of Ministry Officials who stood with the Death Eaters. The Ministry's Headquarters had been taken. During the same time, an attack was made on Azkaban. Any remaining Death Eaters in the prison had been released. 

The moment the Floo Network was back up and running, the Order had taken their chance. Upon entering the Atrium, they were bombarded with spells. Red and green light flared through the air. The Order was overwhelmed, it was an army versus a group. There seemed to be a moment of hope when Dumbledore came through his Floo, but it was short lived as the battle became an execution order. Every Death Eater in the vicinity threw their best, people they thought were civilians joined in, and Dumbledore could see they were fighting a losing battle. The Order fled. Only when they regrouped at 12 Grimmauld Place did they realize the loss. Elphias Doge, Mundungus Fletcher, Arthur Weasley and Remus Lupin had never come back . Dumbledore knew it was only time before Hogwarts became the next target. Through their grief the remaining Order members had made their way to the castle. Hogwarts could not fall . Albus relented that it was the safest place to be, yet his refusal to face the problem head on was grating on the nerve stricken adults. This where they found themselves after it all. Safe guarded behind stone walls, with time running out.

Albus Dumbledore would have to face the Dark Lord in a last attempt to stop this from solidifying. But he wasn’t going to be able to. He knew this, with all his magic he did. Without Harry they were doomed.

“Filius, it’s time.”

“Albus! We cannot hide here forever, this will only hold them back for so long! Minerva is correct, V-Voldemort must be stopped.” The squeaky man pushed. But Albus wasn’t having any of it.

“The students need to be shielded. It’s time. We will discuss this after Hogwarts is made impenetrable.” No one could fight that this was necessarily a bad idea, but they knew he was using it as a way to stall the inevitable. Flitwick huffed and gave in. His students needed him. He called on Molly Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, and Poppy Pomfrey to assist him. The amount of magic required to shield the entirety of Hogwarts was more than he had. With the four of them they made their way to the courtyard. Filius instructed each witch to face a different direction, until all were covered. Each wizard pointed their wand, making a human compass, and began to chant.

“ Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum.” They cast in unison, long sparks of silvery blue shot out of the tips of their wands. Holding steady, a barrier started to form. Each blast of the incantation helped grow the barrier, it was a sea of light, rippling against the starry night.

“ Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum.” The lines crossed into each other, and four parts of a shield became one. The wands began vibrating in their master's hands.

“ Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum.” The blue globe completely encased the grounds, and a hush fell over. The outside world was gone, and they could only hope this would be enough.

\----------------------------------------------

Lord Voldemort strolled into his newly acquired building. The Ministry had been a sweet, sweet gift that he had stolen . It was rightfully his . His Death Eaters stood menacingly, a warning. They were right where they were supposed to be, in charge, on top. The opposing Auror’s had been taken care of , placed in the very spots they placed his people. They would be dealt with soon, loyalty or death. Voldemort would have nothing more than complete control. The lines of civilians and Ministry workers on their knees gave him a sick sense of joy, a delicious thrill. Those closest to the Dark Lord, who had been brave enough to look up from their bowing positions, made audible gasps. Varying shrieks of horror arose, like a wave. Realization that Lord Voldemort walked the earth, proof of it in front of their eyes. The Death Eaters demanded respect for their Lord, directing their wands to those who refused to quiet down. They were allowed to use people as examples. At the fountain were three kneeling figures, and one body. They were of importance because they had been the captured , or killed, members of Dumbledore’s resistance. Voldemort had wanted them alive, he had questions to ask, answers to take. One of the men had been unlucky however, and took a misplaced diffindo to his lower throat. Without immediate medical care, he was doomed. No one in the throws of the battle was able to get to him. An unfortunate loss . 

The remaining three men had been taken down with passive spells, or succumbed to their injuries enough to be captured. Behind each live member stood a Death Eater. His most loyal. Bellatrix stood crazed behind Remus Lupin, the werewolf. The lower half of her face was covered in dried blood, her own. Voldemort knew the circumstances of why because he had ripped through Harry’s mind and seen it happen. In her love for the battle she must have chosen to ignore the injury. Her nose was very much still broken.

“My Lord.” She said in reverence while bowing slightly, not moving from her post. The others followed her movements. Her captive was fairing well enough. He had a ghastly cut above his left eyebrow, still bleeding. Without his hands free he was unable to wipe it away, causing his right eye to be the only sight he was granted. He was breathing heavily, sloped over. The next over was Yaxley, the man that had really shown his worth with this coup. Voldemort had given him a task and he had completed it with acceptable results. He held a familiar face. Arthur Weasley. Scorching anger tumbled in his ribs as he remembered Harry’s visions of his loved ones. This was one of Harry’s weaknesses, knelt in front of him. Subdued, helpless. Yes, he would use this well. Another show of how fate truly favored Lord Voldemort. The man seemed half alive, he didn’t have many visible wounds, only small cuts and bruises littered his exposed skin. He didn’t seem to be able to hold himself up however, as Yaxley had a harsh grip upon the man's collar. Tugging harshly when he threatened to topple over.

“Yaxley, throw that man into the holds. Make sure his wounds are seen to, I need him alive and well.” Without hesitation, the Death Eater muttered a ‘Yes M’Lord’, and stunned the elder Weasley. His body hit the wooden floor with a solid thump. Lupin and the other man both began to struggle, Bella hissed grabbing hold of the werewolf’s hair, sticking her wand under his chin. Lucius’ ward was an infamous man, Mundungus Fletcher. His leg was clearly broken, snapped at the shin, yet he tried his hand at standing in protest. Lucius grabbed hold of the man's shirt, holding him in place while he stepped in the broken limb. Fletcher cried out in pain, folding in on himself, it must have been pure agony.

“You sick fucks.” He spat. Lucius silenced him, and continued to apply pressure on his lower leg. The man screamed in silence. Arthur Weasley’s body was levitated, then walked to one of the many fireplaces. They were gone in a flash of green. Voldemort held his arms out, and turned around slowly. The Atrium was as quiet as when it was empty.

“My fellow wizards, my people .” He smiled, exposing his tooth filled mouth. “Today begins anew. The end of this broken era has come.” Allowing his arms to drop, he let his wand slide out into his palm. The sight of it caused visual distress, and many made to move away from their new leader. “You will all be given a fair and just trial. An easy answer to an even easier question. Will you join me? Or will you die,” He spun around once again, using his wand to point at the last Order member. “Like vermin, hiding in the streets.” Bodies shifted uneasily. The Dark Lord started to roam, his robes flowing out and creating an illusion of black waves. “You are important people, ones who have jobs, families . Duties to fulfill. Should you join me willingly, and with absolute loyalty, you will be allowed your positions.” His voice lowered. “There will be nothing to fear, your lives needn’t come to an end, help me build us back to greatness!” With a motion of his hands the Death Eaters began hollering, cheering.

“Greatness!”

“Our Lord is merciful!”

“Loyalty or blood! ”

“Stand with me! S wear to me! ” And people did . One by one, dozens upon dozens of wizards started to stand. Remus Lupin watched on in horror as civilians and Ministry Officials stood, pledging themselves to a great evil. This was only the beginning. 

\----------------------------------------------

Harry Potter couldn’t remember the last time he was able to enjoy such a long bath. The water refused to cool, so he was able to lay in it for as long as he wished. He closed his eyes, and let his finger graze the water's surface. His fingers looked like prunes, and his bones had been warmed to their core. The bath allowed him to move in body in a way that allowed a much needed reprieve from the pain in his knee. His leg, suspended in the water, was a terribly bruised mess. His pain in that one limb had let him forget about the other problems. His elbow was sore, hitting it off metal was a sure way to make it so. His head felt foggy, and he swore he could feel tattered edges along recent memories. It was a terrible ache, he felt the tension in his neck from it. Harry’s face was bruised as well, from when he landed after Lucius discarded him. His cheekbone was swollen, and it stuck out further than the other. Just at the edge of his eyebrow, there was a shallow cut. His glasses had caught on his skin, and pulled. He had taken them off when getting into the bathroom. Leaning on the counter, Harry had gazed into the mirror, and didn’t like what he’d seen. It was too much. It meant it was real. He had abandoned the spectacles on the counter, and blindly ran the bath. Undressing was a chore in itself, but he achieved it. 

Harry looked over to where his filthy clothes laid. The blurry bundle rested. He really didn’t want to have to put them back on, but he also didn’t want to walk , crawl, around starkers. To be caught naked by the Dark Lord? Again, hilarious to witness his reaction, mortifying to think about. He could always wrap himself up in the sheets. Then his bath wouldn’t go wasted, and he’d have coverage. If Voldemort didn’t like it, he could suck an egg . The only issue with this, is that he wouldn’t be able to maneuver around wrapped up. He’d be virtually stuck in place, like a helpless burrito. Harry threw his hand impulsively into the water, splashing the calm waters. Water sprayed onto the tiled walls, and over the edge of the tub. He was frustrated. The teen drew in a deep breath and shimmied himself down into the water completely. He submerged his whole body and shook his head. His hair waved elegantly in time with the water. It made him think of the second task in the Triwizard Tournament. Of course this was a lot less cold, and not as life threatening. Actually that was debatable . Anything to do with Voldemort was life threatening. He didn’t have to recover something he lost? Nope, that wasn’t true. He had to try to recover his freedom. Try again. This wasn’t a plot designed to capture Harry and use him for nefarious Dark Loud schemes? Ah, bullocks. Foiled again.

Suddenly Harry sat up in the bath, realizing he had been under for too long and tried to fill his lungs with beautiful, wonderful oxygen. He couldn’t breath under water this time. He coughed loudly, expelling the liquid from his nose and throat, feeling really extremely stupid. That was one way to die. Drowning himself in the bathtub by accident. Peaceful atmosphere now ruined, Harry searched the bottom of the porcelain for the plug. After pulling it, he sat and let himself feel the water empty. Harry listened to the demented noised of the drain swallowing his dirt, until it made it’s last little gurgle. He used his good leg to lift his body, while bracing himself on both edges of the tub with his hands. He swung his hip to the side, and used the momentum to right himself on the edge. He looked down to the floor at his jumper and jeans and wrinkled his nose. Yeah, there was no way he was putting any of it back on. Reaching for the towel on the rack, Harry started to dry himself off limb by limb. He remembered when they were very little and Dudley would get out of the tub, Petunia would do the shimmy to dry him. Placing the towel on his heads and ruffling his hair through the fabric. Then do it to the rest of his body. Dudley loved it. It always made him giggle, and his aunt's smile showed her own enjoyment. She never dried Harry off, he would stand there shivering and have to wait for Dudley's already wet towel. Then he’d have to pat himself dry. When he was that small, he didn’t understand at all why he wasn’t treated like his cousin. He thought he was bad. Sometimes he still feels that way.

Standing up, putting all of his weight on his good leg, Harry wrapped the damp towel around his waist like a skirt. He did that often in the quidditch change rooms at school, it was weird being around a whole group of people, and everyone was naked. Ron always laughed at him when he got flustered, teasing him. Harry didn’t care what they said, it was weird being naked in a room filled with your mates. Especially when in the midst of having your hormone’s on steroids. No thanks. He’d rather hide away in a wardrobe, and pretend to be a clothing hanger. Alone in the comfortable dark surrounded by clothes. That thought made Harry think about the room past the door. There was a dresser. What were the chances they had clothes in them? He felt there was a much higher chance of the drawers being as bare as the rest of the room. It was worth a look. Using the sink’s counter, Harry hopped to the door. He paused to grab his glasses, because needing to come all the way back in here for them was not something he needed to deal with. He placed them on his face, and continued his weird hop. Opening the door proved that he was still an idiot, because he had to back himself up to open it fully. The air outside the bathroom was chilled, and goosebumps racked his flesh. Using the door frame and walls, he hobbled his way towards the dark wooden piece of furniture. It was a taller dresser, reaching just under his shoulder. It had four large drawers, and two half sized ones at the top. Probably for socks and undergarments. Grabbing the ornate handle he opened the top left drawer, inside the drawer was empty. Pushing it closed, Harry reached for the right side, preparing himself for disappointment. Yet he opened it, and was pleasantly surprised to find some pants. So he was allowed underwear, but not socks? Rude. 

Grabbing the top pair, a soft grey, he closed the drawer and opened the third one. Inside was a large amount of black cloth. He wasn’t sure what it was until he pulled it out, and revealed simple black robes. There were four or five in the drawer. Harry only needed one. He threw the underwear and robe onto the carpeted floor, and checked the rest of the drawers. They were all empty, surprise-surprise. Thankful for what he did have, Harry eased himself onto the floor and began to dress. The pants were a size too big, the label reading one-size-fits-all. Lies. The robe was definitely not meant for him, as it swallowed him whole. Lifting his arm up, his hands were hidden from view underneath the long sleeve. Were these Voldemort's robes?

“Merlin's saggy balls , no.” He refused to believe it. 

“Talking to yourself already, Harry?” Harry Potter flinched so hard he knocked his glasses off and screamed.

“ What is wrong with you?!” The teen felt for his glasses and placed them on his face once more before turning to glare at Voldemort. He didn’t like being on the floor, looking up at the man. So he struggled to stand. If he leaned on his left leg, he could do it. Voldemort took in his appearance, his damp hair and lack of foot wear.

“I see you’ve found the bathroom.”

“I see you like to point out the obvious.” The man's wand was out faster than his mind could comprehend it.

“Crucio.” Harry dropped from his pathetic posture, and landed back onto the ground. It seemed the Dark Lord had finally had enough of him. He writhed for less than five second before the curse was lifted. “Try me again, Harry Potter.” His voice was low, and Harry was trying really hard not to take that as a challenge. Expectant was the impression he got.

“I’m good.” He was not good. Voldemort sighed, as if he were disappointed with Harry. A flutter of annoyance brushed his side of the link and Harry was hit with the curse again. He was held under longer this time. He cried out loudly, his voice cracking as his throat convulsed. Knives sliced between his finger and toes, his skin was being peeled back layer after layer. It was all too much. ENOUGH! STOP! Harry pushed what he was feeling back through the link, imagining the tube again. This time he stuffed his pain into it instead of his hatred. 

The curse was lifted, and Harry knew immediately that it had worked. Voldemort’s screaming was horrid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] I researched what I could about the Floo Network, there is no definitive information about how it actually works. Whether it is manned in a way that stops anyone from Flooing into another with use of the Ministry Department of Magical Transportation (there is a Floo Network office), or if there is a series of complex spells or charms that perhaps create a queue, much like a printer. The Death Eaters had taken control of the Ministry in the evening, making me believe they had control over the Floo Network. It makes sense to me that they would keep it locked down until they were ready. 
> 
> Sorry for the late post, I had family stuff to deal with and wasn't able to write in the morning like I usually do. See y'all tomorrow <3


	5. A Bargain With Death

In his attempt to stop whatever was happening, Voldemort had taken a step back, clutching at his head. The curse seemed to be affecting him still, his hissing bowls of pain echoed loudly. Harry focused on the bent over figure of the man and realized Voldemort had dropped his wand. Harry’s trembling limbs leaped into action the second he was able, with vigor he didn’t realize he still had. Harry spun his body and used his good leg to propel his entire body to the floor beneath the Dark Lord. Too late had Voldemort recovered, only realizing what was happening a fraction of a second after Harry’s hand grabbed hold of the fallen piece of wood. The teen felt a strange warmth, a familiarity. The wand liked him .

“DROP IT-“ Was hissed threateningly, but Harry felt no fear. He ducked his head at an incoming talon, and rolled on his side away from Voldemort. Harry didn’t need the link to tell him that the Dark Lord was pissed. He rolled once more and pointed the wand at his prophesied enemy.

This is where they found themselves, staring hard at each other. Harry was breathing heavily, his whole body still shook from the aftermath of the cruciatus. Voldemort’s red eyes bore into green, and he held very still. He was positioned in a way that seemed as if he was taking a step towards Harry. Now frozen with what Harry knew was unparalleled rage. But not fear. The skeletal man began to move, slowly bringing in his outreached hand, pulling his leg back towards his body. He stood at full height once more. Why wasn’t he afraid?

“Why do you hesitate?” Harry blanked. 

“What-I’m holding a wand to you and you’re trying to goad me?” His response was Voldemort cocking his head curiously. His eyes simmered, the corner of his mouth twitched. “ Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Kill me, Harry. Strike me down where I stand.” He had the balls to lift his arms in a welcoming manner, his smile stretching . That just pissed Harry off.

“Crucio!” But nothing happened, absolutely nothing. Voldemort’s face split in half, a joyous grin that reached his eyes. “ Petrificus Totalus!” Horror. “Incarcarous,confringo! E xpulso!” His eyebrows dipped and he began to shake the wand furiously, as if the percussive maintenance would kick start the magic. “DIFFINDO! What the fuck!” The wand wasn’t working, and wouldn't react to him at all. It didn’t make sense, unless- “What did you do?” He whispered. He held the wand still pointed, even knowing it was useless. There was nothing stopping Voldemort from coming to him. Yet the man seemed content standing where he was.

“Oh, Harry.” The Dark Lord tilted his head back and laughed. It was a deep sound, mean. The type of laugh that was vocalized only for others misfortune. His exposed white throat showed just how much Voldemort believed Harry to be a threat. His wand arm dropped, and he watched the man in front of him lose himself to mirth. His head snapped back quickly, and he hissed out- “Did you truly believe that I, Lord Voldemort, would be foolish enough to bring a conduit of magic into a room with you? Harry Potter, the foil of all plans? No.” He now advanced, slowly, relishing in Harry’s spike of fear. “I’ve placed a spell on you, Harry Potter. One I have specifically designed to block magic.” Cold dread washed over Harry, how had he forgotten about the spell? Voldemort had cast it on him before his departure, and Harry had stupidly forgotten. He couldn't have known that was what it did. His own eyes flickered down to the wand.

“I may not have my magic but I have my hands.” It sounded like a threat of combat, punches, slaps perhaps. But what he really meant was his ability to grab hold and snap. He grabbed the wand with both hands and held it slightly in front of him, intent clear. Voldemort became stony. “I’ll snap it. Right in half if you get any closer. I swear it.” And he did, he meant it with every fiber of his being. The wand reacted by trembling slightly, as if sensing his intent.

“Snap my wand in half Harry, and I won’t think twice about keeping your magic from you permanently.” Shit.

“I’ll escape, and find someone else to undo whatever you did. Dumbledore could-“

“But that’s where you are wrong, dear Harry. If you’d remember correctly, I cast that spell in parseltongue, meaning the only two people on earth who could counter it are both here, in this very room. Your precious Dumbledore could do nothing.” Harry didn’t know if that was true. But if it was then it was game over. Voldemort clicked his tongue, “Give me my wand, and I’ll not punish you for taking it.”

“What about everything else?” A flicker of something behind those crimson eyes.

“How very... perceptive of you.” Another cock of his head, and a contemplative look. “I give you my word that I will not punish you for the events that have transpired this evening.” Harry couldn’t believe him, he just couldn’t. Voldemort’s word? How much was that really worth? “Shall I countdown from three, Harry?” 

“Wait-“ Harry leveled his gaze. “I want something else too.” He had to at least try.

“Is my mercy not enough?” 

“I want you to heal my knee.” It didn’t take even a second for Voldemort to think it over.

“Acceptable.” Squinting his eyes, Harry dropped his hands, the wand now residing in his lap. The Dark Lord held his own hand out expectantly, but made no effort to move from his own spot. The bastard wanted Harry to come to him. 

“Are you serious?” A slight raise of a non-existent eyebrow was his answer. Harry huffed, he couldn’t believe he was bargaining with the Devil . Not willing to crawl, Harry instead used his arms and good leg to almost crab-walk to the bloody Dark Lord. It was made even more difficult due to the fact that the robe he had on could fit two of him inside it with room to spare. He should have just thrown the wand at him. He approached the man, and stopped only about a foot away. This was the first time he had willingly been this close to Voldemort. He looked from his face, down to his extended hand and reached up. Careful not to make any skin-on-skin contact, he struggled to place it in the hand that was too bloody far away. Luckily for him, Voldemort had seemed to think his effort was good enough, because he reached down and took the stick. True to his word, Voldemort did not point it at Harry. He rolled it between his fingers, then it was back up into the man's sleeve. 

“My knee-“

“Will get healed. I wasn’t planning on letting you crawl around like a wounded dog for long.” Harry should have realized that when Voldemort agreed to his terms so quickly. Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. Why had he put his wand away then? “You have zero talent when it comes to subtly.” It was hard to gauge Voldemort’s tone without the hints from the link.

“I wasn’t really trying to be subtle to be completely honest.”

“Your knee will get seen to tomorrow.” Voldemort then stepped over Harry, his robe sliding over his form, creating static against his own. 

“But-“

“Tomorrow.” Was the final say. The Dark Lord then opened the door, and walked out. The door closed behind him with a soft click. Harry stared after him, then his eyes flickered to the doorknob. He hadn’t seen any spell or incantation used, could it really be so easy? Voldemort had warned him against trying to leave, but his whole being was telling him to go. What if it had been a bluff? What if Harry could have left at any point? Curiosity, if nothing, got the better of him, and he decided to crab-walk to the door. He sat up straight once getting to the wooden slab, and leaned his shoulder on it. Reaching up, Harry grabbed a hold of the ornate handle. At once he felt a jolt of electricity run down his arm and into his body. It didn’t hurt badly, not like the torture curse, but it made his body jump and all nerves reacted at the same time. He lost all control and essentially flopped. It didn’t let up right away and he convulsed on the floor, it felt like tiny sparks were under his skin. He swore it danced on his tongue, bouncing tooth to tooth. He laid there until the last of the shock left him through his toes. 

It was like a bloody shock collar for a dog .

“Are you seriously shitting me right now?” He asked aloud, knowing that Voldemort wasn’t going to hear his question. Harry laid there for a bit, looking up at the white ceiling. It was plaster with bumps and grooves, he could make out small shapes and it was like when you’d watch the clouds and point out animals. He suddenly felt very small, homesick. He wanted to go outside, to feel the breeze on his skin. Allow the sun to soak into him, darkening his skin as it did every summer while he gardened for his aunt. Merlin, he missed gardening. The soil on his hands sticking, getting trapped underneath his short fingernails. It always smelt so good, the earthy tones made Harry feel alive. Real. It was a chore that he didn’t mind doing at all. Even mowing the lawn was great, nothing smells better than freshly cut grass. He wouldn’t mind Herbology either, if the plants didn’t try to eat him or scream the gardener into unconsciousness. Regular old flowers were just fine, thank you very much.

Looking over to the lone window, Harry realized it must have been very late. He wasn’t sure about how long his excursion took, nor his bath. He was exceptionally tired, his whole body was sore. The idea of sleeping was desirable, the idea of sleeping in the actual bed was even more so. The teen sluggishly sat up, and ever so slowly half crawled towards the queen sized bed. It looked so inviting, so soft. Reaching up, Harry pulled on the thick duvet using it as leverage to lift himself over the edge of the mattress. He struggled to heave the rest of his body, and wiggled side to side, slinking in. The bed was indeed excessively soft, so much nicer than his bed at the Dursley’s. He didn’t want to have to move to pull the blanket from underneath himself, so he flipped the edge from one of the sides. It barely covered him, but the robes were enough to stop him from feeling chilled. He hadn’t pulled himself far enough onto the bed to be at the pillows, instead stayed towards the middle. Harry succumbed to his fatigue seconds after closing his eyes.

\----------------------------------------------

Unknown to Harry sleeping form, not three rooms over, the Dark Lord had been completely destroying his study. Only after leaving the room had he allowed himself to express his temper. The only power Harry truly had was that he seemed to always make things go sideways. Forget love, impossibly infuriating luck was Harry’s strength. The boy needn't even wield it actively. There was to be a change of plans, considering Harry was able to use the link when he shouldn't have even the faintest chance. To have the ability to turn Voldemort’s curse on himself, through the link , was not even a possibility in the Dark Lord’s eyes. Yet it had happened. A small oversight perhaps on his part, thinking Harry’s completely vulnerable without his own magic. No, their link created a bridge that allowed Harry to use his own magic. It had to have been the horcrux that resided in his scar, the one that had latched onto the boy’s own soul. Harry Potter was an enigma, something never to have been done before. Never had there been a recorded living horcrux. Nagini was a living container, but she was almost under complete control of Voldemort. The horcrux lived in her, whereas the horcrux in Harry had fused with him. The boy was his soul, as small as the piece had been. 

Lord Voldemort trashed his study in frustration. He had thrown destructive spell after spell at the poor furniture. His chair was splintered badly, and the desk cracked nearly in two. Any papers that had been resting on it, were laid on the floor, most half incinerated from his careless throw of incendio. He’d only stopped himself when a familiar voice hissed to his right.

“Master smells of distress.” Nagini slithered into the room, fearless. The small fires burning on the carpet did not deter her. Voldemort cast quickly to extinguish them. Her large body bypassed any office shrapnel, tanking through it. She reached her destination, and began to circle her Master.

“I apologize if I startled you,” He hissed to her quietly, crouching down to offer himself. Nagini took to his arm, and climbed. “Some… things have occurred. Unexpectedly. I do not take lightly to diversions.” The snake coiled around his wide shoulders.

“Not startled, only hungry.” Petting her head gently, Voldemort huffed out a pleased sigh.

“You are always hungry, Nagini.” She was a simple creature, smarter than most snakes, yet still restricted by her most natural instincts. She was Voldemort’s companion, his closest. He refused to call her a friend, as that implied too much of an attachment. Lord Voldemort did not have friends. He had followers and minions. Had Nagini been a person, she most definitely would have been killed. Or that's what Voldemort would tell himself. He couldn’t allow for there to be weaknesses. Yet he held a type of fondness for her, that he didn’t have to admit to anyone but himself. No one else could understand their talks, Nagini could not tell anyone of the fears he presented to her. Nor how he would obey her commands to pet her for hours, or listen to her when she told him to eat. It was different now that Potter was here, because he would be able to talk to her. He had yet to tell Nagini of Harry’s arrival, but knew she suspected something with the way her forked tongue scented his robes. 

“I want a rabbit.” Was all she said, and Voldemort couldn’t help but give in to her simple demands. He placed a charm to lighten her weight, and took leave. He would fix his office later, for now he was going to take his companion outside so she could chase her prey freely. Tomorrow, he would heal the brats knee and set up new ground rules.

Lord Voldemort would come out on top.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayyyyyy another chapter finally! 
> 
> Harry's secret power is the ability to fucked up all of Voldemort's plans. Updates will slow down a bit, just for the next week or so. I'll post every other day. 
> 
> Hope you're all doing awesome, and staying safe.


	6. Wasted Days

He didn’t know how long he’d slept, but the smell of cooked food wafted over him and he took a moment to stretch out in the bed. Harry groaned into the comforter, then turned his head. There was a flood of light, and he hissed. He had forgotten to turn the light off last night, and the window offered no reprieve either. There weren't even curtains on them. The thoughts of burying his head and just falling back to sleep were squashed when he got the second wave of delicious, delicious food. His stomach rumbled, and Harry agreed. It did smell really good. The teen sat up, and realized his glasses must have fallen off his face at some point, because he definitely did not remember to take them off. Feeling around where his head had rested, he picked up the thin metal and plopped them back onto his face. Looking to the far side of the room, where the desk sat, he noticed a tray. On the tray was a plate filled with a generous helping of eggs, what looked like toast, and some sort of meat. He was hoping it was bacon, and not the flesh of Voldemort's recently deceased prisoners. His followers were called Death Eaters . He wouldn’t put cannibalism past any of them. Shaking his head to rid his mind of those morbid thoughts, Harry prepared himself for leaving the bed. 

His legs were tangled in the blanket, revealing crisp white sheets underneath. The robe he was wearing had ridden up to his thighs, pooling a large amount of fabric at his stomach, and behind his back. He shuffled a bit, removing himself from the mess, and carefully swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Using the extended leg of the bed frame, he helped himself up, the robes fell into place once again. Leaning on the steady pillar, he tested his knee out. It still hurt like a bitch, and was double the size it should have been. Hopefully Voldemort would fulfill his promise of healing him today, if not, Harry would absolutely go out of his way to be a massive headache. If Voldemort had lied to him, Harry would never believe another word the man said. Would never give him the time of day. Bracing himself, Harry hobbled over to the desk. Grabbing onto the back of the small chair, he tried his best to pull it out. With the carpet being there, it was made more difficult, but with the support of the desk he could do it. He sat down, slightly peeved about how out of breath these simple tasks made him. There was a cool glass of orange juice on the tray with the plate, and a fancy set of utensils placed meticulously on the side. The meat indeed was bacon, eggs were sunny-side up, toast was toasted to a perfectly even brown. Harry snickered to himself, imagining Voldemort standing over a fancy looking stove, flipping eggs for Harry. There was no way Voldemort cooked this, meaning that either a follower was a designated chef, or it was a house elf. The man was probably too paranoid to allow anyone else to cook for him. House elf it had to be then.

Picking up the fork Harry began to dig in. A quick thought of ‘what if it’s poisoned?’ left his mind as soon as it entered. There was no way Voldemort would off him in such a muggle fashion. He didn’t seem too trigger happy with Harry after their little conversation last night, but one never knew with the Dark Lord. Biting into his eggs, Harry hummed in content. The food was still warm, heating charms were a magical miracle. The yolk ran, and Harry happily soaked it up with a piece of toast. He picked through the bacon, finding the pieces that were more gooey than crispy. He was happy he was alone, because he was not in the mood to be in his best manners. He leaned on the table with his elbow, licked at his fork. When he took a large gulp from the glass of juice, he slurped. There were crumbs leading from the tray to where Harry sat, a little trail. Harry had issues with eating in front of people, it stemmed from growing up only receiving scraps from the Dursley’s. He wasn’t allowed to eat at the table, so he would be sent back to his cupboard with scraps. When eating at Hogwarts he had troubles with pacing himself. He felt like he needed to eat as much as he could, because he never knew when he’d next eat. His first two years he had hidden food in his trunk, afraid that one day the feast wouldn't appear and he’d have to feel that horribly empty feeling again.

As much as his mind told him to eat as much as he could, Harry always felt odd at the table, surrounded by others. Eating in front of them was awkward, so he forced himself to slow down, and only take smaller portions. He’d spend time cutting his food into small pieces, dividing them into equal piles. Only then would he allow himself to pick at the food. He had a system. It went like this: a vegetable, a meat, and then a bite of whatever side he’d chosen. Usually it was mashed potatoes because it slid down his throat easier. Eating was a chore with others around, when alone he could let himself go. So he did. He ate like he was starved, with reckless abandon. No one was there to judge him. Finishing off the glass, Harry decided to hell with it, and licked his plate clean of the leftover yolk and bacon grease. He clumsily knocked the fork off the desk when bringing the plate up to his face, but he didn’t realize it because the sound was muffled by the carpet. He placed the plate back onto the tray. It immediately vanished as his finger left the porcelain. Harry was disappointed that he would not get to meet the house elf, it was a possible way to escape. But Voldemort was too cunning to let something like that slip through the cracks. He doubted he’d see a house elf as long as the man decided he was dead to the world.

Pushing the chair back, Harry exited his seat. He yelped loudly as his right foot came into contact with cold metal, and jarred his knee once again while trying to hastily pull it away. The hot throbbing pain that had subsided came back tenfold.

“Son of a bitch! ” Harry leaned fully on the desk, practically folded in half on it. He drew in a deep breath, someone once told him it would help with pain, probably Hermione. He stayed like that for a couple minutes, shifting when he thought he wouldn’t puke from the pain. Looking over the edge of the desk, he saw the culprit. His fork! Luckily he hadn’t stepped on the pronged end, only grazed it enough to warrant his reaction. It hadn’t vanished with the rest of the tray, and Harry saw an opportunity. It could be a weapon, it could be anything he wanted. Leaning down, he swiped the utensil and held it against his chest. It was his, he licked it, he had claimed it. Now he just needed to hide it. Looking around the room, Harry juggled his options. The desk didn’t have any drawers, and he hadn’t any tape to place it underneath. The dresser was a no go, too obvious. Gazing at the bed, he had an idea. Under the mattress would work, and it would be pretty easy to get a hold of if placed correctly. 

Pushing himself off the desk, Harry made his way back to the bed. The small journey proved to be more difficult after re-hurting his knee, but he made it in one piece. Two pieces if you counted the fork. Resolved, Harry decided the fork would do best near the headboard, under the mattress below the pillow on the left side of the bed. He slipped the metal easily under the top mattress, the four prongs just barely a centimetre from the edge. It wouldn’t be too difficult to pull it out with either hand if he was laying on the bed there. It was at least something, a safeguard. He couldn’t use magic, but he could wield a fork. Like he had said to Voldemort, he still had his hands. Sitting up from his bent over position, Harry sat on the edge of the bed. He looked out the window, to the great outdoors. From where he was standing, it seemed to be a bit windy. The visible trees swayed in time with the longer grass. A bird flew by, and Harry wished very badly that he could be flying too. He continued to watch the outside world, and then noticed something very peculiar. The trees swayed with the grass, the bird flew. Then it happened again, and again. The window was showing him a loop. Harry couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t even being given a real scene of the outdoors, only what Voldemort wanted him to see. That was insane… But also clever. It meant even if Harry was able to get in contact with someone from the outside, he couldn’t give them any hints as to where he was. He doubted the scene before him was what the actual scenery looked like, wherever he was. He could be in the mountains of Canada, or deserts of Egypt. 

Now thoroughly in a foul mood, Harry frowned at the window. The fake window. He heard the door open, yet refused to acknowledge the man. 

“I have things I need to do today, let's finish this quickly.” Voldemort strode into the room, the door closing behind him. Harry huffed loudly. 

“You’re the one with the wand.”

“You’d do well to remember that.” The Dark Lord snapped, patience running low already. He was also in a bad mood it seemed. Although, Harry surmised that it was the man's natural state. The Dark Lord walked into his peripheral, and Harry turned his head. The snake faced Lord took his wand out, and motioned for Harry to stand. Grimacing, Harry complied. He shuffled to the end of the bed, and once again used the frame to hold himself up. “Life your robe up, and do. Not. Move.” Harry fought the urge to act scandalized, maybe mention something about buying him dinner first. One look at the Dark Lord's face made Harry bite his tongue. Harry reached down and lifted the large robe, it took him a couple tries to gather it all up. His own bare feet came into view, and he hiked it higher. Making sure not to go too far, because he didn’t want Voldemort to see his pants. His knee was a ghastly thing to look at. It was several shades of red and purple, grossly swollen. The bruising seemed to reach down past his knee, the blood running underneath his skin. The whole picture wasn’t pretty, the odd shape reminded him of the knobbly ends of the branches on the Whomping Willow. Cut his lower leg off and it would seriously look the same, bar the color. The Dark Lord came forward, and kneeled on one knee. His gaze was fixed on Harry's knee. This encounter felt weirdly intimate, and Harry fought the urge to start shifting. Voldemort raised his wand, and began casting.

“Luminare Torpere-” A soft green hue encompassed his knee, and he felt relief. He actually felt nothing. Harry wanted to ask what the spell was, but didn’t want to upset Voldemort's concentration. “Musculus Emendo.” There was an uncomfortable pulling sensation from below his knee, another above it. Just behind his kneecap he felt the two join into one. “Fragmentum Mendacium, Inanis Sanguine.” A pink line flowed from his knee into the tip of the wand, and Harry watched in astonishment as his knee unswelled. The color started to resemble a normal skin pigment once again. “Lenio.” Voldemort tapped his wand on Harry’s knee, and opal droplets dropped out. Three taps, and the unique liquid absorbed into his knee. He felt slight tingling, and some of the soreness returned. Voldemort backed away from Harry, and his wand disappeared once again. “It will be sore, but it is healed as much as it can be with magic.” 

“That was brilliant -why aren’t you a healer or something? You could be doing good with-”

“I’m not going to have this conversation with you.”

“But-” 

“Stop trying to leave the room.” Was all he got before Voldemort disapparated in front of him. In a puff of smoke and a loud crack was left in his wake. 

“Stop trying to leave the room.” Harry mocked. As if. Looking around, Harry realized that he literally had nothing to do, and had no idea when he’d next see Voldemort. This was really going to blow. There were no books, not a single piece of parchment. He was alone here with his thoughts, and that scared him an unfair amount. This was just a larger, brighter version of his cupboard. At least then he had his imagination and a couple toys. He could leave whenever he wanted into his own little world, pretending to be Harry Potter, the boy who someone cared about. He would lay in his small bed and close his eyes, imagining himself into a house with a family. He’d live in a big house, with too many bedrooms for the amount of people living there. They had bathrooms with slides, and a backyard with swings. His pretend-mom would wake him up in bed with a kiss, and then they would share a delicious breakfast cooked by his pretend-father. He was an amazing cook, and always made Harry’s favorites. They never told him his hair was too messy, or that he was a freak. This was before he knew he was a wizard, so his pretend-parents couldn’t do magic. But they accepted him. Sometimes they would ask him to do stuff for them. “Harry dear, would you please make the salt fly over here?” or “Show me how you can teleport!” . Magic in his daydreams was a wonderful thing that they loved, a stark contrast to the Dursley’s and their hate for it. He didn't use the word magic in his daydreams, instead he used to call it “The Strange”. 

Harry tried to think of other memories from before Hogwarts. Most were tarnished with Dudley’s face, more so his fist. Vernon and Petunia never right out hit him, unless it was a swat on the butt or to the back of the head. No, they hurt him in different ways. Vernon constantly berated him, horrible comments that fueled Harry’s belief of there being something wrong with him. He was rough too, when he’d grab Harry he left bruises. He was thrown into his cupboard on multiple occasions, resulting in him hitting his head, or knees. Petunia put him in harm's way. Forcing him to cook at the hot stove, he'd burn himself often, or not taking care of Harry’s wounds, letting them fester. He truly would be dead if he didn’t have his magic. She’d let him do dangerous things, he’d not been old enough to realize the consequences. Like mowing the lawn, and not warning him against the powerful blades. Keeping electricity powered objects away from water. He had learned the hard way about running into the street, when he’d simply toddled into the road and was almost hit. She had never told him to look both ways. That was also another thing, he was often left unattended. Playing outside where anyone could snatch him up, or being alone in the house for hours on end when the rest of the family left to go on some fun excursion.

Dudley however, had no qualms about hurting him. Pushing him around, punching and kicking. Dudley liked to ram his big body into Harry’s much smaller one and knock him into various items or people. Harry suffered from a sprained ankle when his cousin decided to kick at his leg at an odd angle. He was lucky there wasn’t a break. Because of his horrid attention from Dudley, the other kids stayed far away from him. They didn’t want to become targets as well. So Harry was usually alone. He had troubles with reading and writing because the Dursley’s would never help him with his homework, most of the time he wasn’t able to do it because he couldn’t see in his cupboard. He couldn’t distinguish the difference between letters that looked the same, like b, d, p, q and s, z. His writing took a huge hit, and he still had problems with holding his pen or quill correctly. Harry could list a million ways he was tortured by his supposed family, and he could talk for days about the repercussions of it. But he never did. It was different thinking about it vs talking out loud. It made it more real, and Harry knew he had issues with the feelings of shame and guilt. It was one of the big reasons he listened to Dumbledore, and tried his best to be a good boy-who-lived.

Thinking of Dumbledore made Harry feel a multitude of emotions. He so badly wanted to see the good in the man, but he was angry. Voldemort was right when he told him that. Harry was upset , he was sick of being kept in the dark. Being used and thrown around when needed, and then being cast away when inconvenient. He was a person, not a weapon , not a doll. 

Harry had moved to lay on the bed at some point, his eyes closed. At that moment he started having trouble perceiving if he was Harry Potter the Gryffindor, or the freak under the stairs. His body felt like it wasn’t his own, like he was an impostor. Was he here right now? Had he ever been to Hogwarts, or was that his active imagination? For a moment he felt like he was looking down at his own laying form, floating just in the corner of the room. He could see his own unruly hair, and black eyelashes drawn. The steady rise and fall of his own chest, matching the beat he could still feel. His heart sped up, and Harry realized he really was outside his own body. He panicked and desperately tried to get back to himself. But all he could do was float, suspended in the corner of the room. His body stayed still, looking peaceful asleep. He felt anything but peaceful.

“Help me!” He tried to yell, but the words never formed. He couldn’t do anything, he was stuck. Like a helpless wraith, as Voldemort once was. “Please!” He begged to no one in particular, no one could hear him anyways. Harry watched as the door to his gilded cage opened, and a dark figure slide its way through the entrance. It was a snake. A big snake . And it was approaching Harry’s body. Now in hysterics, Harry was yelling for the snake to get away from him. It was going to eat him. Swallow him whole. And he was going to have to watch the whole thing. The beast began unhinging its jaw, opening its mouth in an ungodly way. It moved towards his feet, now up on the bed with him. The snake closed in, and Harry sat straight up. His own screaming startled him awake. He was back on the bed. Flinching away from the end of the mattress, he saw there was no snake. There was only a discarded duvet, and ruffled sheets. His heart hammered so hard in his chest, and he was absolutely covered in sweat. The thick robes clung to him, heavy. It was a dream, just a nightmare. A terrible, horrible nightmare.

Harry let out a ragged breath, and ran his hand through his hair. It had been so real, so vivid. He often had bad dreams, enough that his four poster bed was spelled quiet before bed every night, they never got easier. Never let up, always plaguing on his worst fears . He’d never had a nightmare like that one though. The out of body experience was frightening. He wondered if Voldemort had felt like that when the killing curse backfired and destroyed his body. How long did it take his wraith form to realize what had happened? He must have been horribly disorientated. Had it hurt, being ripped away from yourself like that? Harry had to think so. Calmed down a bit, he decided it was time for another bath. No, a shower this time. He couldn’t risk falling asleep in the tub and having another dream like that. He really would drown himself accidentally.

The shower was quick, not relaxing like his bath the previous night. He felt chilled, but feverish as well. He needed a distraction. Something to do. But the only items he had was the clothing he wore, his old muggle things had been gone from where he left it. He also had the fork. What could he possibly do with a fork? Carve into the wooden desk or dresser? Maybe destroy the walls. He could throw it into the ceiling. He could throw it into the ceiling? Like how students in his class used to do with pencils, where they would try to get them stuck. It was at least something… could he do it? Should he? The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to do it. It was stupid, so stupid.

Harry quickly dressed in a new set of pants and robes, still perturbed with the idea that they were His. Then he went to his hiding place. The fork was where he left it, and he thanked whoever was listening that it hadn’t vanished. He really would have gone mad, not being able to at least attempt it. He looked at the ceiling and tried to pick a spot, it had to be somewhere he could move the chair in case the fork really did get stuck. He had a perfect expanse of ceiling between the bed and window, he could even sit on the bed while throwing it. Holding the heavy utensil, Harry felt giddy. It was really, very stupid. It shouldn’t even sound fun, but he’d never gotten to try the pencil game in school. He couldn't afford to lose the only pencil given to him. This was his weird redemption to his younger self then. He owed it to lonely little Harry. With that thought he flung the fork with his dominant hand, it hit the ceiling with a loud ‘thwump’ , and fell straight down. It landed silently on the carpet. Disappointed, Harry got up to try again. And again. And again.

He must have gone for hours, throwing this fork. He ended up getting it stuck a couple dozen times, he was getting the hang of the angle and force needed. He was trying to break his record of how many times he could get it stuck in a row. He was at 5. Which was an incredible feat in his opinion, considering how difficult it actually was. One time he threw it and it lined up perfectly with holes already there. Harry cheered loudly, throwing his hands in the air. As if he was playing quidditch and caught the snitch. If anyone had told him that this was how he’d spend an entire Friday evening, he would have laughed in their face. He only stopped his strange game when a tray of food suddenly appeared on the desk, ruining his throw. The fork clattered to the floor once more, and Harry decided to give it a break. The ceiling wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was he. Placing the fork back into its home, he went to his supper. He hadn’t received lunch, or maybe he had slept in long enough that he did receive lunch, and not breakfast. Without a clock, watch, or his wand to cast tempus , he was really shit-outta-luck with knowing the direct times. The window wasn’t a reliable source. He ate his steak and kidney pie with more etiquette this time, watching the loop outside. It seemed the times of day had their own little loops. There was no longer a breeze and the bird did not fly by. The stars that started to shine in the slowly darkening sky twinkled in pattern. Knowing that it was fake took away any beauty of the image. Bullocks.

Harry took a vicious bite into his steak, dejected. He hoped tomorrow wasn’t going to be as bland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay sooooooo.... I got really excited, and badly wanted to post this chapter. I know I already posted one today, but I have no self control and regret nothing.
> 
> FORRRRRRK
> 
> Tell me in the comments if you guys had that weird pencil game in school too (or maybe something similar?)


	7. Change of Plans

Lord Voldemort had a bad day. Not only had they been unable to infiltrate Hogwarts, they had also had a setback with some of the Ministry Officials. The Dark Lord had to appease some of the members of the old Wizengamot. A handful had approached his throne, and asked to see proof of his plans in reforming the main governing body of the magical community. Had they not come practically groveling and shaking in their robes, Voldemort would have cursed them where they stood. For daring to take back their support, for daring to demand anything of Their Lord. But he had not. He was a merciful Lord, and wanted his people to see that he could listen. Dumbledore and his Order had begun a resistance, taking anybody they could and spreading false lies about Voldemort. He would rectify it in a diligent way. He would not allow his emotions get the better of him. So he had conversed with the group of wizards. Answering questions, and pretending not to imagine them strewn across the floor with their entrails behind them. 

It had been tedious, redundant. Yet he endured. He had known what to expect when taking over, as most of the higher ups were imbeciles. Catering to the whims of the muggle prime minister and slowly destroying wizard culture. It was unacceptable. Wizards would once again practice their ways, Dark and Light Magic would be Magic. No one would need to fear when celebrating traditions, dark magical artifacts would be registered, but not illegal. It was a crime to keep magic away from those who were magic. Some of the Officials expressed concern over the choices, but Voldemort convinced them to think otherwise. Why ban a branch of magic, when every branch could cause harm? They had seen with their own eyes, a death caused by a horribly miscast Diffindo, a charm that was considered Light. Yet it was a spell taught to those in Hogwarts in second year. Alternatively the curse spell Torpere, a curse that causes severe numbing on contact, could be used in medical practice. He had used it himself with slight adjustments, on Harry that very morning. It was considered a Dark offensive piece of spellwork, yet had the potential to ease pain, and not inflict it. It was all about the intent of the spell. 

It had taken the Dark Lord two hours to convince them of this. That was only one of the discussions. After explaining simple observations and obvious flaws of the current system, they had allowed the Dark Lord to move onto his meeting with the Death Eaters. His followers had become the new enforcers of his chosen laws. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had no Aurors, only his trusted and marked. Should some of the Aurors they held captive show themselves redeemable, they might still have a place in the department. Yaxley, his third in command, was now head of the department,as he had requested. He had been given the task in taking Hogwarts with means that left the castle and its occupants, the children, intact and unharmed. The powerful shield spell that encompassed the school currently proved itself to be more formidable than they first believed. Not only had that come to light, but also the fact that students who wanted to leave were not being permitted to. There were children who wished to be reconnected with their parents, Death Eaters and regular folk, were being held against their will by their once loved Headmaster. 

When made public, parents became unruly, demanding that their children be released. The only good thing to come from this, was that some wizards had come forward offering themselves as bait, to go to the castle under the guise of supporters of Dumbledore, in order to somehow feed information back out. Voldemort was weary of these parents, but the idea was becoming more and more feasible. He would need to do research into who he’d send, and couldn’t risk sending actual supporters. He had an unlimited amount of Veritaserum, and multiple choices for Legilimens to use as a scope for lie and distrust. Himself, Snape, and a couple other Death Eaters who also had an acceptable knack for the art. Snape’s loyalties were still questionable, but as long as the Dark Lord held the winning hand, the snake would do his bidding. He had no doubt that Snape was loyal only to himself, much as Lucius was to his family. 

Lucius was a mess because of this. He was sure his son was being tortured, mistreated somehow. As much ire as Voldemort had for Dumbledore, he did not think the man was capable of torturing a student. Not physically at least, perhaps young Draco was being pestered, spoon fed lies. He was a strong believer in self preservation however, and Voldemort could see the young Malfoy playing along perhaps. Without his father however, he wouldn’t make any drastic changes. He had relayed his musings to Lucius, commanding him to cease his worried pacing, it was giving Voldemort a headache. The day had been long, and he wished to go to his home. A place where only he knew the location of. Where no one could possibly bother him, that is unless he was in the same room with Harry Potter. That child was a thorn in his side, and he wished dearly that things would stop going wrong around him. Harry was the equivalent of Felix Felicis, only opposite.

After waving away Bellatrix, who had compiled a list of the best candidates for the coup, he decided today was as good as over. He barked orders to his second in command, and left before anyone could ask him anymore idiotic questions. Being away from the manor, Voldemort felt unease simmer under his pale skin. He kept thinking about Harry, and what he could be up to. Leave it to the Boy-Who-Lived to somehow get past fourteen layers of warding, and the strongest deterrent charm he could place safely inside them. He half expected to arrive at the home in flames, or least reduced to simple rubble. He was pleasantly surprised to find neither had happened. It seemed Harry had also listened to him about trying the door, as there was no indication that the detection charm had gone off. He would reward the boy if he wasn’t a complete pain . Voldemort was using every ounce of his willpower to not curse Harry for every word that came out of his mouth. He was the definition of insolence, and the Dark Lord was beginning to think it was less because of him, and more the fact that it was a character trait. But the unknown factors between the link, and the need to subdue Harry in a way that worked stopped him from casting. He could not rely on the torture curse to curb Harry’s attitude. He would need a different tactic. Perhaps play on Harry’s need to save his loved ones… He had Arthur Weasley in a cell currently, awaiting for his fate. Should he need immediate leverage, he would use it. It would be a lesson that would kill two muggles with one spell. Consequences of actions, and how love only held one down, chains that could be cut or slowly rust away.

Voldemort walked through his quiet manor. It was one he had acquired when he needed another safe house. One that only he knew the location of. Riddle Manor was too well known, and he didn’t want nor need the memories of the manor that only confused him. Malfoy Manor was a place he called home, but no longer after Lucius disappointed him when he had found out about his diary. The first horcrux he had made, destroyed. Given to a child in an attempt at an immature powerplay. He had been very proud of his first horcrux, it was an amazing feat for a sixteen year old to not only complete but master the technique. He had of course, played around with attempts. He killed early in life, first at age fourteen. They had a gardener, a foreign man, who tended to most of the manors during that time. Tom had lured the man into a wooded area, claiming there to be a problem ‘my grandmother fell, we were just trying to gather berries!’ . He led him to his spot, and ended him. His wand still had a trace, so he used muggle means. This was before he knew about horcruxes, the kill was only for the experience and thrill of it. Voldemort does not claim to be sane, he recognizes that not everyone enjoys killing. What he does claim is that he is the only one with the ability to bring the Wizarding World back to its glory, and his sociopathic tendencies will help him achieve this.

He had learned his lesson in killing without regard, and he was able to learn, to adapt. His need to save wizardkind outshone his bloodthirst. It just happened that sometimes circumstances would happen, and he’d almost lose control. 

One of these circumstances being when he entered into Harry Potter’s bedroom the next morning, only to witness the wretch try to hide something from him.

\----------------------------------------------

He had just finished breakfast(lunch?), and was staring at the new fork. It made him want to keep trying to beat his record. This morning had started similar to yesterdays, however he hadn’t had a grumpy Dark Lord come to his room to heal him. So it was already worse than the previous day, because it didn’t start with a magic show. He watched his empty dishes vanish, and convinced himself that Voldemort wouldn’t visit today. There was really no need to, unless he wanted to gloat about something, or maybe monologue a bit. He had better things to do than come to Harry’s room, surely? So Harry found himself walking to the bed, he refused to call it his bed because it wasn’t his . Just like how this wasn't his room. He had just begun to pull out the utensil when the door to the room opened and Harry hurriedly shoved the fork further into the mattress. Unfortunately, this meant it took him longer to pull his arm out, as he had really gone out of his way to stuff his treasure. Volkdemort’s eyes were on him as he pulled away. Harry took a step back and put on his best ‘I was up to nothing’ face. It clearly didn’t work.

“What. Was. That?” Harry bit his lip and did what he was best at, playing dumb.

“What was what?” He didn’t think he’d ever seen Voldemort move so fast, as the man used pure strength and rage to rip his mattress off the box-spring, and chuck it like it weighed nothing . Harry had taken hasty steps back, feeling like he did when Vernon went to grab him. The silver fork laid in the middle of the bed, sitting embarrassingly out of place. “Oh that.”

“Yes, **that.”** The white sheets and blankets were strewn across the carpet. Harry felt his face heat up, and he stared at his feet. “Were you planning on stabbing me, Harry? Perhaps in the neck? How barbaric.” The Dark Lord sounded exceedingly pissed off. Harry looked up quickly, needing to defuse the situation.

“ No- it’s not like that!” He held his hands up in a nonthreatening way, shaking them.

“What could you possibly need a fork for other than as a weapon?” He hissed, very, extremely upset. Harry’s scar started to burn as Voldemort strode forward and picked up the offending silverware. He held it like one would something dirty, pinched between his finger and long thumb.

“I was throwing it up into the ceiling for fun.” Harry blurted before he could help himself. With the link open, the burn was quickly coupled with distrust. Voldemort’s eyes searched Harry’s for lies. “I’ve been so bored .” He felt like he had suddenly adopted a serious case of word diarrhea . He couldn’t shut up if he wanted to. “And I realized after dropping the fork, that it didn’t vanish with the plate-in primary school some of the boys would throw pencils into the ceiling…... I just wanted something to do.” He finished lamely. The link halfway through his explanation had changed to disbelief, and utter confusion. Voldemort stared at Harry as if he’d never seen him before. It took too long for the silence to be broken.

“You’ve been throwing.. a fork.. into the ceiling.” Harry nodded vehemently. Voldemort finally looked up, above Harry’s head. The Dark Lord hadn’t taken notice of it before because why would he need to look up at the ceiling? But there they were, a collection of small holes in an isolated patch. Most were spaced out, indeed matching the four prongs of the fork. Harry was mortified. He couldn’t remember ever being so embarrassed . He was almost sixteen for Merlin's sake. The Dark Lord slowly looked back at Harry, he was a lot less upset now. He was feeling mostly impressions of incredulity, bordering disappointment. “No more holes in the ceiling, Harry.” The teen nodded again, his black locks flying all over the place. That was a sentence he never thought he’d hear anyone say, let alone the Dark Lord. 

“No more holes in the ceiling.” He was still a bit shaken from the similarities between Vernon and Voldemort, and couldn’t think of anything but to keep the peace at that moment. Voldemort sighed, exasperated. Looking very much like a Professor who had just had to take points away from their favorite student. He closed his eyes pensively.

“I... will be leaving reading materials for you on the desk each morning. Starting today. Read them.” Harry’s eyes widened. “Don’t make me regret this gift. ” With one last disappointed look at the abused ceiling, Voldemort promptly turned on his heel and stalked out. The door slamming behind him, leaving Harry to clean up his bedding. 

He had taken the fork.

\----------------------------------------------

Staring at the fork that now resided on his desk, Lord Voldemort let himself laugh at the absurdity that was Harry Potter. He sat back in his newly transfigured chair, chuckling lowly every time he gazed at the silverware. How was he to get any work done with that memory?

“I like Master when he is happy. He pets me more.” Nagini came around the desk, and Voldemort rubbed his face, trying to hide his smile.

“Not happy.” Her eyelids blinked. “Merely...tickled.”

“You need to eat something. You are pale.”

“I’m always pale.” He countered. She lifted her heavy head, and began to move slowly onto the Dark Lords lap. He moved his arm to accommodate her.

“Don’t argue. Pet me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy! A second chapter will be released today after I edit it. I got caught up on my chores and to-do's and I'm back to writing!


	8. New Friends

True to his word, Voldemort had given Harry a book to read for the day. It hadn’t been a book trying to persuade him to the dark side, nor a book all that dark at all. Harry would have much rathered a book like that, it would at least have been interesting. Shortly after putting his bedroom back into place, a book had appeared on the desk, the same place as the trays of food. Reading the title, Harry recognized it as one of the required texts for Hogwarts. It must have been for year 6 students. The book was quite old however, the spine seemed to be on its last legs. He could tell from just looking, that the pages were yellowed. An older edition perhaps? Achievements in Charming [1]. It was definitely the same book, but it felt different from Hermione’s copy. The one he had used to help her study for their O.W.L.S. He remembered laughing with Hermione after she had hit him with the book. She had been so frantic, and when quizzed, she wanted to check the text herself. It rendered Harry quite useless.. ‘I’m sorry, Harry! I just need to be sure it’s right!’ Harry had no doubt in his mind that she would receive O’s in every subject. Maybe none of that mattered anymore.

Had Voldemort really wanted him to read a textbook? What could the point be, he couldn’t even do magic. It might have been a way to torture him, or rub in the fact that he was powerless here. ‘Here Harry, have a book on spellwork even though you won’t get to practice any of it.’ It didn’t make sense. Shaking his head, the teen pulled out the chair and sat at the desk. He didn’t have anything else to do, so he might as well. He hadn't really studied this book, only looking in it when helping Hermione. Maybe he really could learn something. Fingering the cover, he trailed his hand along the beat up edges . This book seemed well loved. He opened the cover, and was surprised to find the usually blank page before the actual index to be covered in a familiar scrawl. Notes. A lot of them. It was like a personal index, listing page numbers, and then other titles that Harry assumed tied together with the subject at hand. In big black letters, at the top right hand side, read **Jane Court** in beautiful cursive writing. It didn’t match the written notes. 

She must have owned the book first, before the Dark Lord got his hands on it. It was the Dark Lord’s handwriting. It looked so very similar to the writing in the diary. Staring at it gave Harry some serious deja vu and he ran the pad of his fingers over the ink. Voldemort's writing was so much nicer than Harry’s. His was chicken scratch, Hermione used to joke about him having the perfect hand to write doctor notes. Voldemort had the smooth calligraphy, perfect points, not a drop of ink. He couldn’t believe he was jealous of the Dark Lord’s writing. He roamed his eyes over the notes, and couldn’t make much sense without checking the coordinating pages. So that was how he began reading it, starting from the first notes and going page to page that way. On each page there was more notes, updated information, or crossed out lines and re-written to be more accurate (in Voldemort's opinion of course). He carefully read every line. Snake-man wasn’t going to quiz him on this, right? He sure hoped not, as interesting as some of this was, Harry wouldn’t be able to read off pages like Hermione. What if he had to write an essay? Merlin’s beard, he really would drown himself in the tub.

One thing that kept catching his eye, was a title that was often written in. The name Corpus Leporem: Details of the human anatomy, and their reaction to magic had been on several pages. A couple times it had been shortened to CL, due to space constraints. Was it wrong that Harry wanted to read it? It almost sounded like a book that could be about torture. Medical books about anatomy had gathered a large majority of their knowledge from terrible times in history where man turned on man then experimented on prisoners. The tragedies had offered closer looks into biology. It was an ugly thing, yet so very interesting. Like serial killers, or other violence and horror. Not that Harry liked those things.. maybe he did a little. If he was allowed a book from the library, it was often a mystery, or thriller. Something about the unknown drew him in. He rather liked it in fiction , than his real life however. 

By the time Harry had finished the book, re-reading a couple different sections, it was dark out. He hadn’t even realized how late it had gotten. Dinner was not served, the tray never appeared. Putting the book down, Harry stared at it. Was he to go to bed hungry? It wouldn’t be the first time. He shouldn’t be expecting anything from Voldemort anyways. He should be in a cell right now, surrounded by stone and chained up. Not being practically pampered like a pet. People were suffering, and he was sitting here cozied up with a book. A rush of guilt made his belly feel hard, filled with stones. What if his friends were dying? What if Sirius was captured, and being tortured for real? He had to get out. He had to try. He owed them all that much. He abruptly got up from the chair, and looked around. Could he use the book to push the handle, tricking the door into not thinking it was him? He picked up the tome and fast walked to the door. The handle was long, not so much a knob. He held onto the corner of the book and pushed at the handle. The jolt of electricity hit him faster and harder than before. Less of a shock this time, and more of a bolt of lightning, hit him. The book went flying as his body jerked painfully, his knees gave out and he fell to the floor. His upper body kept the momentum and his head flew into the solid wooden door, only nearly missing his nose. He heard his body hit the ground before he felt it. The electricity was now in his veins, and his every muscle spasmed. He couldn’t even cry out in pain, as his vocal cords wouldn’t work for him. Just when he thought it wouldn’t end, the electricity left through his toes again. Harry swore he could smell burnt hair.

“What had you been trying to accomplish, Harry?” Laying there, feeling buzzed in the worst ways, Harry struggled to turn his head. “You’ve already tried the door. Perhaps the window next?” Sadistic amusement.

“You know,” He forced out, trying to sound casual and not like he’d just suffered. “I’m really beginning to hate this floor.” 

“The floor?” Voldemort hissed out, humoring Harry.

“I can’t seem to stop finding myself on it. I think it’s cursed.” He looked over at the man, Voldemort had sat himself at the very chair Harry was in not even ten minutes ago. It was so casual, so domestic looking. Harry snorted, eliciting a suspicious scowl. “You look so common sitting there.” Harry explained. The Dark Lord clenched his jaw, and Harry could see him holding back a curse.

“Nothing about Lord Voldemort is common.” He spat indignantly.

“Talking about oneself in third person is uncommon, I guess.”

“I should sew your mouth shut.” A terrifying image, yet the threat felt like it held no weight.

“Trust me when I say I can still be extremely annoying without my voice.” Voldemort seemed to actually think about it, taking a moment to ponder.

“Yes, I can certainly believe that. Considering your **mere existence** is annoying.” Not really taking offense to that, Harry decided not to comment. He didn’t really like how easy it was to converse with the man who killed his parents. He instead just stared at the man, who in turn stared right back at him. Voldemort was leaned back into the chair, his bare foot crossed over the other. His hands were in his lap, fingers laced. Harry knew his wand to be up in the dark sleeve. He was horribly out of place, in a simple chair at an empty desk in front of a window with a boring scene. Looking at his face, Harry tried to find features that resembled young Tom. There wasn’t much leftover from his youth, the eyes however held the same shape. The color was different, gone the deep brown, replaced by the more familiar crimson. Sometimes Harry swore they shone. Like rubies, maybe. Harry finally sat up from his lying position, and he turned around, resting his back against the door. 

“Do you miss how you used to look before ?” He questioned, not really expecting a response. There was a small buzz over the link, but nothing definitive.

“The only practicality my face held was the ability to charm most. My current appearance shows how much I have evolved, how **in-human** I am. Now that I have gained the ultimate immortality, I believe it to be quite fitting .”

“People are afraid of you.”

“As they should be.”

“No one who rules with fear lasts long.”

“I’m immortal, Harry. I will rule for centuries, if not longer.”

“Okay, but- did you ever stop to consider the impacts of the long term? ” Voldemort tapped his long finger against his knuckle, the only sign that he was even listening. “Nothing will get better, because no one will ever want to speak out about things that need change . It’ll become all about surviving, no one will be truly living. What kind of life is that for magical folk?” He asked, sincerely. “Fear makes people only think about themselves, how to get by day to day. Trying not to step on toes. They lose interest in the big picture.”

“It seems you’ve thought of this quite a lot.” He looked bored.

“I’ve lived almost my entire life in fear. I think that makes me a bit of an expert.”

“Are you trying to help me rule my people, Harry?” The Dark Lord leaned forward in his chair, hands still entwined. “Do you truly believe changing my face will accomplish **anything?** ” It was a rhetorical question, Voldemort wasn’t really going to listen to anything he had to say.

“It sure would make my life a lot easier, not having to stare at that all day.” Harry raised his hand and motioned to all of Voldemort. The easy air that had formed was broken immediately, and Voldemort stood up. He was back to his old self quickly. A displeased wave made its way through the link.

“Worry not, dear Harry. You needn’t see my face for a while, as I have better things to do with my time than to **indulge** you.” The man summoned the fallen book silently, catching it in his outreached hand. “Allow my gifts to touch the floor once more and you shall feel true boredom, as I will remove every single item from the room and leave you with nothing but the paint on the wall.” Harry swallowed audibly, and Voldemort apparated out of the room. That went horribly sideways, and the Boy-Who-Lived was mad at himself. Why’d he literally have to go and call the man ugly, to his face? What was he hoping to accomplish with that? Groaning loudly into the empty room, Harry decided it was time for a shower, then bed. He really doubted he’d be getting supper tonight.

\----------------------------------------------

Once again true to his word, Voldemort had stayed away for a while. Five whole days . Harry was losing his mind. He started reading the books out loud to himself just so he had an excuse to talk. He was terribly lonely. Even banter that may end in torture was better than this. Each book he was given got more and more boring. The material was dry, and none held notes. Just plain boring texts. He’d really pissed the Dark Lord off, huh? Drawing his second bath for the day, because he literally had nothing better to do, Harry decided to see what would happen if he let the bath water run. Magic was a strange and wonderful thing, and he wanted to know if there was a spell or charm that stopped it from overflowing. It was pure boredom driving him now. If he didn’t think the shock spell from the door would continuously get worse, he might have shocked himself just for the fun of it. The bath had just passed the halfway mark, and continued to fill. Harry sat on the toilet just watching it, listening to the water run. It was comforting. As the water got higher and higher, Harry started to think of consequences that this might bring if it did flood. Would he lose bathroom privileges? Would the Dark Lord even know? He hadn’t seen the man enter the bathroom since he’d been here. There really wasn’t a reason for Voldemort to. 

The bath had less than an inch before it would spill from the lip of the tub. Harry pulled his knees to his chest, just in case. He watched intently, and then the plug in the bath vanished.

“What!?” That was anticlimactic. Harry was hoping the water would keep running, but the bath would never fully fill. That would have been cool . But no , the plug disappeared, and now the water was going down. Frowning, Harry looked to his right and stared at the towel rack. He had two plain white towels that always refreshed themselves at some point . Grabbing for the closest one, Harry plunged the towel into the tub, clogging the drain. His robes sleeve had gotten soaked, and now weighed heavy. He ignored it and watched in stupid glee as the tub began filling once again. Would the towel vanish too? The water rose until the edge, and to Harry’s complete satisfaction, started to flow over the edge. He snickered into his wet sleeve, feeling like a child. Maybe he was going insane. Harry was about to turn the water off when he heard a distinct crack from the other room. Oh shit.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Harry turned and stared into red eyes. He was still sat up on the toilet, knees to his chest.

“Oh- uh. I fell asleep while waiting for my bath. Sorry.” Voldemort took only one look at the still flowing water and pool on the tiled floor, before bringing his wand out and banishing all the water. The taps turned off, and the towel that had been stuffed in the drain was gone as well. He was given a hard look before the Dark Lord turned around to leave. “Wait!” Harry jumped up from the toilet and ran, hoping to catch him before he- crack! The room was empty, and Harry was once again left alone. This was stupid, he needed something else to do. Enough was enough. Harry stomped back into the bathroom, grabbing the second towel. He filled the tub again. It was petty, but if this was the only way to get the man to come back, he was going to do it as many times as he needed. He had pillow cases, and underwear to use too. He was nothing if not determined. The bathroom flooded for the second time, and Harry listened for Voldemort. This time he stood on the floor, letting the water run over his feet and soaking the bottom of the robe that dragged along the floor. Crack!

“I **will** take away the bathtub.” Harry couldn’t even get a word in this time, Voldemort was so fast. Everything vanished, his robes were even spelled dry. He had just drew in a breath to speak when the man disapparated again.

“I literally have all day you twat!” Running to his bed, Harry took off the pillow case. He was going to go through every article of fabric until Voldemort talked to him, or really did vanish the tub. He still had the toilet and sink. The bath had only filled up halfway by the time Voldemort arrived. Harry quickly turned off the water, then raced to the other room. The man looked furious.

“It was an accident.” A lie.

“You flooded the bathroom **three times,** using towels to clog the drain. I fail to see how any of that was an accident.”

“I never said I was smart .” He shrugged, then crossed his arms.

“What exactly are you trying to accomplish?” Curiosity bled through, with a hint of exasperation. 

“Nothing.” This was so much better than being alone , irking Voldemort was going in his top five of favorite past times. A long pause, and then the link hummed . Amused. Pleased.

“Oh, Harry...” Harry flushed immediately, he felt it along his neck. He kept forgetting Voldemort had the link too.

“Shut up.”

“Are you lonely?” Voldemort cooed, his eyes cruel. Harry held onto his sleeves with his index fingers and thumbs. Rubbing to cause friction.

“No.” He gritted his teeth.

“Are you truly that **starved** for my attention?” He was mocking him!

“I’ve been locked in here for five days by myself, there is nothing to do after finishing your stupid books! Staring out the window is pointless because it’s charmed and the images are fake! I can’t even practice wandless magic because of this stupid magic collar, and I’m going insane with no one to talk to but myself.” Voldemort threw his head back and laughed suddenly. Harry failed to see what part of this was hilarious. The hissing cackle subsided, and Voldemort gazed at him thoughtfully.

“So, Harry. You wish for companionship?” Harry merely glared, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “Ah... I suppose I can grant you this small token... Lord Voldemort can be kind.” He felt his eyes bulge out in surprise. Was he going to be allowed to see another human being? Harry felt hope flutter in his chest at seeing another person besides the Dark Lord. Even Bellatrix would be alright, he could ask her how her face was doing. Voldemort looked pensive, then turned and began walking out of the room. Harry watched the door open then close, he sat on the edge of the bed patiently. Was he just going to go grab a random Death eater? He secretly hoped it was Lucius Malfoy, he wanted to see the man's face when he realized Harry was very much alive. 

His hope was squashed when Voldemort came back to his room, and in tow was his huge ass snake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] The book was said to have been released around 1981. So I played around with different student names, and found this lovely lady who fit. All of this information about the book (except the release date and title) and who it belonged to were of my own ideas, Jane Court is a real character who I adopted to make sense of my story. Harry holds a first edition copy, which belonged to a student who went to school around the same time it was released. Whether it was given to the Dark Lord, or simply taken is unknown for now. The book originally belonged to Jane Court, a Hufflepuff, who had spent time in Azkaban for unknown reasons after graduating. This was during the time Voldemort had attacked Harry and his parents. She was released in 1988, only serving around a year.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed! The next chapter is being worked on, and I'll post tomorrow. I need to work on my other fic tonight <3


	9. Horcrux Meets Horcrux

“No fucking way.” His rude outburst was ignored, and Voldemort merely walked to the middle of the room, just before the bed. The snake followed behind him, tongue darting out to scent the new room.

“Nagini, this is Harry. He has been staying with us, and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. He wished to meet you.” Harry sent a look of horror to the Dark Lord. This was not what he wanted at all. Nagini began to slither towards him, and Harry quickly brought his feet up onto the bed and began backing up towards the headboard. The snake's head peered over the edge of the bed, and she just stared at Harry with a tilted head and slitted yellow eyes. Her tongue darted out again, and she hissed.

“He smells funny, Master.” 

“Yeah, well at least I have opposable thumbs .” He grumbled quietly, hoping she didn’t understand English. 

“...I wish to eat him.” Harry clenched his whole body. Voldemort’s face took on a contemplative look, as if he was seriously considering it.

“I promise I won’t ever flood the bathroom again, just don’t let her eat me.” He whispered, suddenly remembering his nightmare and how closely this scene resembled it.

“ Admissible . Nagini,” The snake blinked. “Harry is not food.” Voldemort looked up from his pet, taking in Harry’s position. “He is… like you. Precious.” Harry’s fearful expression transformed into a grimace.

“Don’t say it like that .” Any response he was going to get was interrupted by Nagini pulling the rest of herself up onto the bed and sliding towards Harry. He tried to back away, but found he was already fully against the headboard. 

“You will pet me.” He was frozen still as she steadily approached. Her nose came close to his foot, and she rounded him. He felt her body shift against his shins. Harry held his breath as Nagini climbed onto him, resting her head between the gap between his chest and bent knees. She ceased moving and just laid there. Harry’s eyes flickered from her to Voldemort, and he had never seen the man look so happy. “Pet me.” Was hissed again, and Harry allowed himself to breath. He slowly raised his left hand, his right was too close to her mouth. He hesitated before gently stroking the scales that ran along her back. It was so smooth . She hissed, pleased. 

“This is the weirdest thing I have ever done.”

“You were throwing a fork into the ceiling a week ago. Petting a snake is hardly strange.”

“I once set a python free in the zoo with accidental magic.” Harry had no idea why he said this, it just flew out of his mouth. Voldemort searched his eyes. Looking for something.

“Nagini, you will be staying here with Harry when I am away. You are to get along.” He turned away from the horcruxes on the bed, and started to leave the room. “Oh. And Harry,” He turned to look at the teen who was now looking mortified at the thought of being alone with the snake. “She has permission to kill you if you attack her.” Then he left as if he hadn’t just given Harry the biggest scare in his life. He wasn’t planning on attacking a twelve foot snake anyways, but it was still terrifying.

“Keep petting me.” Harry frowned and looked down at the snake. She was quite bossy. He complied, not wanting to upset her.

“You could say **please,** you know.”

“No.”

\----------------------------------------------

The Dark Lord had thought long and hard during those five days away from the teen. About him, and also the war that was raging on. A good amount of people supported him and his movement, now that they realized that no, muggle-borns were not being killed. A large number were secondary supporters due to their children's week-long lock-down within the castle grounds. He had chosen two parents for their infiltration. Both the Quibbler’s editor Xenophilius Lovegood, a man who showed great initiative, and wished for nothing more than to be reunited with his daughter. He would do anything. [1] The second parent was Iris Hitbirk [2], a woman who was branched off the pureblooded Selwyn family. She had been a bastard child, a far more favorable woman than her cousin Delores Umbridge. Iris had a muggle father who died young, and she was raised by her mother. Now a mother to two young girls, she understood the love one could have for another human. She would die for them. Her daughters were a first year Hufflepuff and second year Slytherin. Very different, yet similar. Iris feared for her eldest, who had expressed concern over being in Slytherin because of the prejudice and anti-favoritism from their own Headmaster. Iris had begun to dislike Dumbledore when her daughter came home for the holidays expressing to not want to go back. People hated her. Perhaps it was time for a change.

There had been three days of intense training. Scripts of what to say, and how to say them. Topics to steer clear of, and a backstory as to how they escaped Voldemort’s grasps. False memories were planted, and those would be the first to surface, should Dumbledore attempt to peer into their minds. Their goal was simple: to infiltrate, and to find a way to lower the shield safely from the inside. There were also three back up plans should they be found out. Each adult had taken an unbreakable vow with Voldemort, promising to try their best with this task. Should they willingly sabotage any part of the plan, or try to side with the resistance, they will lose their magic, then die slowly as their core bleeds dry. The Dark Lord would tolerate no betrayal. Should the two still fail the objective, they were given leniency. The unbreakable vow would not hurt them as long as they were actively trying. Voldemort felt secure in this plan. There were many ways it could go wrong, but the chances were low. Snape had been kept in the dark regarding this matter, as Voldemort was sure he would run to Dumbledore with the information, as part of his own unbreakable vow that he assumed the man had. Instead he had Snape making potions upon potions, keeping the man busy. The potions were anything that could be deemed useful, truth serums, Polyjuice, and blood replenishers. The latter being for the Death Eaters or civilians who had the unfortunate run-in with resistance members in Hogsmeade. A small battle had transpired, and there were casualties. Both Death Eaters and shop owners. The small town had been closed, owners only just returning to begin preparations for opening. Death Eaters had accompanied them, bodyguards more than enforcers. In unfortunate circumstances, a group of wizards had been waiting for any sign of life, and the group had been ambushed. Spells flew without regard. 

The witch Madam Puddifoot, of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, had been struck down in the midst, and succumbed to her injuries. A mistimed Expulso blew away her left arm completely, and further damaged the entirety of her left side. The spell was meant to be aimed to the left of her in hopes of causing the bricked wall to incapacitate more of the group. A Death Eater took a nasty curse to the face, and his sinus cavities filled with water, he had drowned as his lungs filled. Another of his men had been caught with a Jelly-Brain jinx, then in his stupor been hit with the killing curse. Many had been injured, and another store owner had been brought to the hospital under the knee-reversing hex which had been miscasted, and broke the man's knees to force the wrong way instead of a simple transfiguration. Whether it was cast like that purposely had yet to be found out. This attack was led by Sturgis Podmore, and held numerous wizards who had recently been named as either missing, or killed. Now they were named as traitors, and to be captured or killed if necessary. Some of the people included were: Hestia Jones, Rolland Bucket, Brier Bells, Morgan Heron, Millie Heron, and the owner of Hogs Head Inn, Aberforth Dumbledore. There were more unknown wizards, civilians who had been roped into the resistance.

A second wave had forced the group to retreat, and immediately a small army of Death Eater’s had been dispatched to the town in their wake. Anyone not wearing a mask, was immediately taken into custody. Stunners and other spells to incapacitate were used before any offensive spells, unless provoked. The group that had caused the unrest had almost all gotten away, save Brier Bells. She had been trapped in an alleyway, and had become increasingly hostile. She threw any and all harmful spells she could, she was killed by Yaxley. No doubt she would be used as a martyr. Out of all of this, the only good thing was that no students had been caught in crossfire. All wizards apprehended or re-located had been of age, no recognizable Hogwarts goers. There had been wizard folk living in the town, and they were taken to the ministry for their own safety. They would be allowed to return to their homes once it was deemed safe to. Several homes were offered as sanctuary, Malfoy Manor being one of them. It was a great way to keep an eye on the people, and also show them how courteous they could be. The majority of the wizards had been older folk who just wanted to live the rest of their lives in peace. Voldemort made sure that everyone knew who orchestrated the attack, and who was the savior. 

Hogsmeade became a ghost town, guarded and flocked by Death Eaters. Some had got into good graces with civilians, by returning to their homes and collecting family heirlooms and other important items for the people. Family photo albums, pets, jewelry, and Bellatrix had gone out of her way to collect an urn filled with ashes for a widow who had no one left after the passing of her husband. Yaxley had listened to concerns about looting and promised to return to the town with hopes of securing buildings, locking windows and doors, and closing the Floor Network from invaders. It was a win for Voldemort's side, a very unfortunate turn of events that were meant to be in favor of Dumbledore's resistance. They were also given a hint to a secret passage somewhere in the Inn, as wizards had been seen inside, yet were able to escape unscathed, as if they had never been there. The Inn was heavily armed with Death Eaters, and the place was being flipped upside down for the entrance.

During his meeting with the leaders to his squads on the fifth day, Harry had decided to intentionally flood the bathroom. Voldemort had many charms in place to alert him of such things, should the boy be planning an escape. It had crossed his mind that Harry may try to kill himself after learning about what he was, so it had been a scare when the magic alerted him of the almost over flow. The second time he had dissaparated without a moment's notice. After the third time, he knew he would find no peace until Harry was content. It had crossed his mind that intervals of long periods without social interaction could cause distress for normal people, he had expected Harry to last longer than five days however. Isolation was never a problem for the Dark Lord, but Harry was a social creature. He had hummed and hawed about how to approach this, he knew he would have to open the house to Harry at some point, therefore introducing him to Nagini. There was the possibility of endangering her, but he felt she had the means to protect herself. Harry wouldn’t have his magic, and would be struck down before he could lift a weapon to her. Not that it would do much damage with the protection spells on her scales. He decided it would be admissible to allow her entrance to the room, perhaps a spell that would allow her to come and go as she pleased. A well working ward and charm would allow leave through the wall, as if a doorway. Much like the platform to the Hogwarts Express. The world would be no closer to finding the boys fate, and he would have times of peace from both creatures. Nagini got lonely too.

After the introduction, he had left, back to his very important meeting. Seeing his two horcruxes together fueled a strange hop to his step. He felt more comforted than he did nervous at the prospect of leaving them together alone. After his meeting today, he would work on the magic needed to give Nagini free reign. At some point he would allow the brat out of his room, but he’d need to ward the rest of the manor accordingly. There were rooms he would not be allowed into, there were windows to charm. The house elves would still be instructed to stay invisible to the boy, should he try to use them as a means to escape. After hearing about Lucius and his elf, he didn’t doubt that Harry had a knack for befriending the creatures. His elves wouldn’t disobey him, but Harry had a silver tongue. Fitting for a parselmouth, very odd for a Gryffindor. Both a snake and cat in one. The boy was a confusing being. He was defiant, strong willed, quick witted. So much of him reminded Voldemort of himself, yet the boy retained his humanity. He retained the ability to consistently care for and risk his own life for others. It was a trait he needed to train out of the boy. And he would, in time he would show Harry how much more harm it did than good.

“My Lord?” Voldemort looked up, he had been lost in his thoughts. Bellatrix was gazing up at him, taking in his position at his throne. His literal throne. She held a look of admiration, and also curiosity. It wasn’t often the Dark Lord was lost in thought, especially not during a meeting.

“Continue.” He ordered casually with a wave of his hand.

“The preparations for the infiltration have been completed, and tomorrow morning the two selected wizards will trek through the Forbidden Forest. They have been given a path that will safely lead them to the south part of the barrier. There they will attempt to make contact with flares, and begin the rest of the mission soon after.” She reported.

“Are we sure it’s a good idea to send them through the forest?” Dolohov chimed in. Bellatrix sneered in his direction.

“The Dark Lord wouldn’t sabotage his own plans by sending them there without good reason. ” Voldemort looked over to Yaxley, who nodded in response to the gaze.

“The forbidden forest has been dealt with,” All eyes turned to the newly appointed head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. “The centaurs have agreed to give us leniency during a certain time frame. We have started up a new treaty with them. The ministry had been taking away their land slowly, forcing them further and further into the forest. We agreed to take off the restrictions completely in regards to a new alliance.” It was an easy choice for the Dark Lord. He would have use of the forest for specific purposes, and in turn have an alliance. Albeit a tense and unfriendly one. The centaurs were very territorial, and Voldemort did not blame them for choosing to stay classified as magical creatures and not accepting the Being status as Hags, and vampires had. He would be kind to them, and allow them their land. They had never chosen a true side, and thus the Dark Lord had no qualms about keeping peace with them. The giants were much the same, they however were more bloodthirsty and agreed to fight in his name. Werewolves had been difficult to tame, as there were so many who had no pack and much like Lupin were against the very idea of the dark beast inside themselves. Fenrir had luck with other alpha males, with the promise of a society that would be more accepting than isolating.

It was in Voldemort’s interest to integrate the werewolves back into society, there would be restrictions and rules, as to keep the whole of society safe. As regular check-ins, curfews as the days get closer to full-moons, and distribution of the Wolfsbane Potion would be required. There would be laws put into place, discouraging mistreatment of them and vampires alike for their ailments. A certain percentage of workplaces would need to fill a quota of how many of these beings they needed to hire. They hadn’t as many vampires here in Britain as in Europe, but he would make it clear that they were welcomed just the same. 

“The Muggle and Muggle-Born Registration, how does it fair?” Bellatrix’s mood soured at the mention to the commission, that had not given them free reign to round up the mudbloods. Voldemort did not trust muggles. The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy had been a much needed law, yet it would not keep them safe. There would need to be further action. They would be discovered, and they would be ready. The Dark Lord remembered the fear the muggles war had caused, the absolute destruction. World War II had been a huge factor in his ideals, if the muggles could not even accept other humans because of religion or skin color, then they without a doubt could not accept beings with higher abilities. The Salem witch trials had been a very good example. Instead, magical Britain would undergo a huge transformation, where the influence of muggles would be back-trained, and forced out. Muggle-born wizards would be removed from their homes if they were the only magic bearing figure. In cases with half-bloods, the family would be required to move to the designated magical communities, or suffer the dire consequences. The muggle parent would have the choice of registering with the new Ministry, or be obliviated. They would retain no recollection of wizards or wizardkind. It would be their own choice. This would make witches and wizards think twice about procreating with muggles, and hopefully curve the influence on the younger minds. He would separate children from families, and would feel no guilt or remorse about it. The children would be raised with their people, and with the traditions they were entitled to, whether the parents liked it or not.

The Muggle and Muggle-Born Registration would be an active way to keep tabs on the muggles in the community, and also hopefully give them a way to monitor when wizards were born into non-wizard communities. It was a difficult piece of magic, working much like the system created for Hogwarts when letters needed to be sent out. It would require a team full time, all who would be tasked with keeping track. There would be a separate team in the division who would be trained with how to approach the families. The ones who would be cased with explanations and the actual removal of the child. Children born into fully muggle families would be taken within the first year of their life, stopping them from possible prejudice and fear that would be caused after they began showing signs of accidental magic. It would be easier to manipulate a muggles mind with less than a year of memories as well. It would also cease children's opportunities from becoming Obscurials. It had been truly well over 300 years since Britain had a case, yet it was a real fear. There was no place safer for a young witch or wizard than with their own in these times.

“The Unspeakables have had a small breakthrough on isolating a magical core in a certain dimension of space. They have expressed concern about the inability to create a larger scope, but have been persisting.” Dolohov recounted, beside him Lucius added,

“The Department has been set up. There is an official office space and training has begun. The Goblins have helped with writing up paperwork, and given us many contacts to choose from. We now have rough drafts for both the contract for the rights of the children, and for the adoption when or if they need to be placed into another’s home.” Voldemort nodded. There wasn’t too much they could do without the means to find the children with magic cores, least go by ear. But the preparation was much needed. He’d already had a list of willing families who would take in wards. Many were witches who had no children of their own, some were magical families like the Malfoy's. They had been the first to add their names. Narcissa convinced her husband, and he relented. Voldemort suspected she was unable to bear more children, and this was her way of expanding the family. Bellatrix greatly disliked this idea. She refused to even look at her sister after their name had been put down, she had not signed her or her husband's name. More Death Eater’s had signed their own, but none of much notable status. When asked, Yaxley had refused on term that he was much too old, and had nothing to offer children. Not only that, but his work was dangerous and he’d much rather place the children into a home where the adopted parent wouldn’t die so early.

“Excellent. Dolohov, keep me closely informed on the progress with the Unspeakables.” He received a bow. “Lucius, I wish to see all the contracts before they are made official. Have them ready for the next meeting.”

“Of course My Lord.”

“Bellatrix, my most loyal. You have done so well with the rebels, I do hope you continue to please me with good news about the coup.” He received a wicked smile, and a low bow.

“Anything for you My Lord.”

“Then you are all dismissed.” It was time for him to go home. He had much else that he needed to do, but without new news from the current situations he hadn’t need to rush anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Xenophilius Lovegood actually betrayed Harry Potter in order to save his daughter in canon. This shows to me a great need to keep her safe and even stooping low enough to go against his beliefs to do so.
> 
> [2] A completely made up name, she doesn't exist in canon. A bunch of names here don’t. They aren’t too important to the storyline.


	10. Know Your Place

Harry’s wrist had begun cramping from sitting and petting Nagini for so long. It was strange, but the longer they held contact, the more at ease he felt. It was hard to think of her as the same creature that attacked Mr. Weasley. She liked to hiss a bit, then would move her position before settling into Harry, getting comfortable.

“So warm yes, like a rock.”

“I need to pee, so you need to let me get up.” Harry hissed to her, and he could have sworn she huffed in annoyance. Did all snakes have an attitude , or was he just lucky?

“You will pet me later.” Harry chuckled nervously, and the snake slowly slid off of him. She decided to rest on the right side of the bed, curling into herself. He moved slowly, Voldemort's warning had been repeating itself over and over in his head. He was afraid that if he moved too fast she might see it as threatening and strike. His feet hit the floor, and he sauntered to the bathroom. He had closed the door, and finished his business. While washing his hands he could hear mutual hissing from beyond the bathroom. Either Voldemort was here, or the snake was talking to herself. Either seemed plausible. He opened the door, and got the tail end of the conversation before stepping out.

“-ust had a rabbit not too long ago. You’ll be fine.” The scene was laughable. The Dark Lord was three feet from the bed, and Nagini had herself halfway up his back, trying to climb onto his shoulders. Her huge body hung weirdly between the bed and the Dark Lord's body. He looked very exasperated, yet held a small smile. The smile melted off the man's face when he realised Harry was back in the room. “I’m surprised you’re still alive.”

“And I’m not surprised that your only friend is a killer snake.” He shot back. Voldemort wasted no time in whipping his wand out.

“Levicorpus.” It wasn’t the spell Harry was expecting, so he let out a high pitched screech when his body was lifted by his ankle. He was suddenly upside down in the air, suspended by an invisible force tied to his right ankle. The big robe began falling, and only stayed up after catching Harry’s free leg, which was bent awkwardly at the knee. His entire left leg was exposed, and he could feel the breeze on his hip and some of his stomach area. “You do realize, Harry, that I don’t need the torture curse to hurt you?” Nagini ceased her attempts and slipped off her master quickly, she slithered under the bed. Voldemort took a step towards Harry. This fueled Harry’s brain however, and he felt glad that he was able to think quickly.

“Wait!” He held his hands out. “What I meant was- I’m surprised you have any friends at all. ” A low blow, apparently Voldemort thought so too. The Dark Lord's nose slits flared and he raised his hand, it wasn’t his wand hand. Suddenly appearing was- Harry’s fork.

“Did you know that there are several areas along the human torso that are able to withstand puncture wounds while leaving minimal damage?” Harry found it hard to swallow, and he instinctively covered his stomach area with his arms. He hadn’t known that. Why would that be something people just know? “I know **all** of them.”

“You’re going to stab me?!” He asked, voice getting loud. He wasn’t having fun anymore.

“Would be proper justice against your wrong doings to the poor ceiling. Karma, as they say.”

“You’re insane! ”

“You really don’t know when to shut your mouth, do you?” The exceptionally tall man lifted his wand, and Harry floated higher. Voldemort stalked forward and gripped Harry’s hair painfully, forcing him to bend his neck at a very uncomfortable angle and look into the Dark lord’s eyes. He was using the same hand that held his wand, and Harry could feel the hard wood against his scalp.

“No-I really don’t.” He whispered. Voldemort held his gaze and Harry felt cold metal against his exposed thigh. He tried to flinch away, but his ankle was held in place, and his head was forced to stay still. “Wait-”

“Listen very carefully, Harry Potter.” The pronged end of the fork began lowering, getting closer to Harry’s hip bone. It was pressed hard enough that it would leave marks, but not enough to draw blood. Harry helplessly tried to move away, he swung his arms, but they felt like they had been filled with lead, and wouldn't listen to him. All he could do was grip at the pooled robe against his chest. “I want you to remember how you feel in this moment,” Harry felt frightened, exposed, and immensely creeped out. “I want you to understand how much power I have over you. You will bow to me in front of everyone.” The fork passed over his hip, and dipped over the exposed underwear. It was then pressed sharply against the skin beside his navel. Harry drew in an audible breath. It was so tense, Voldemort's magic was suffocating him. He could feel it rest in the back of his throat, heavy. He realized suddenly that part of him was urging to get closer to the man, to let the magic fill him. The link buzzed pleasantly, and Harry became confused with his own feelings.

“Please.” He whimpered. Not really knowing what he was begging for. His head was starting the hurt from being upside down, the blood was rushing to his brain. It was all too much.

“Know your place, Harry.” The grip on his hair tightened impossibly. “You will cease your attacks on my character, and you will behave. I have no reservations about scarring you.” Harry could only choke out a sob, tears pooling at the corner of his eyes from the pull on his hair. He tried to nod, but he had no mobility in his actions.

“Yes.” He cried out, just wanting it to end. The hand in his locks released him, and his head felt so heavy in response. He sucked in a breath and was dropped from his position in the air with a flick of a wand. Harry tumbled to the floor, his head hitting the carpet with enough force that it hurt. The rest of his body followed suit, and he was laid out, his toes almost on the tile of the bathroom. The air was knocked out of him, and he took a moment to steady himself. The blood rushed from his head all at once, trying to get back into his body. His legs were tingling, his scalp throbbing terribly. He released shaky breath one after another. While recovering, Harry hadn’t realised the Dark Lord had taken his leave. His heart pounded in his ear so loud, it felt like it was trying to leave through his throat. After a few minutes, he sat up slowly. The robes had been pushed up still, and he could make our four distinct lines leading from the middle of his thigh to the line of where the underwear started. He lifted the robe, and followed the line up to his stomach. There was an ugly patch of raised skin, and four small indents. He was sure it would bruise. It hadn’t broken skin, and Harry was grateful for that. He really didn’t think he could deal with blood right now. 

With shaking hands, he pulled the robe down. He didn’t want to look at his own skin right now. Not when he had yearned for the Dark Lord to touch him while he tortured him. 

“Morgana's saggy tits.” A hissing noise startled him badly, and Harry yelped.

“Master wouldn’t need to be cruel to you if you weren’t cruel to him.”

“That was beyond cruel.” Harry countered, turning in his spot to look at the snake who had poked her head from underneath the bed.

“You’re alive.” Was the simple response. And it was true. How many people had lived after countlessly insulting the Dark Lord? How many people had lived after insulting him to his face? “You are precious.” Harry snorted loudly, shaking his head. “He said so. So it is true. Our Master does not lie.”

“Normal people don’t harm what they consider precious.”

“You provoked him.”

“He technically started it. Besides, he kidnapped me.”

“He saved you.” She hissed out before slithering towards him hesitantly, as if he was the dangerous animal.

“Ah, is that what it’s called in parseltongue?”

“They want you dead. Me too. All of Master’s precious things are in danger.” Harry shook his head again, and Nagini bumped her nose against his knee. It was strangely affectionate, and he felt like she was attempting to comfort him.

“Not me.”

“Especially you. Master lives because of us. He told me we need to be destroyed in order for him to die. It is why I am not allowed out of the manor.” Harry hesitated.

“Couldn’t I get the horcrux out of me?” He received a simple blink, so he tried again. “What if I got what was precious out of me?”

“Only through death.” Harry’s blood ran cold. That couldn’t be true, could it? Surely there would be a way to get it out of him without killing him . Dumbledore would figure it out, he wouldn’t just let Harry die. Would he? “Pet me, Harry.” Nagini demanded, and rested her head on top of his knee. Harry reached out and stroked her down the middle. Had Dumbledore even known? He’d never said anything to Harry about it, he never really told Harry anything to be fair. If it were true and Dumbledore didn’t know it, he would find out quick enough. Would Harry’s death be for the greater good?

“Are you completely sure, Nagini?”

“Yessssss. Master asked me if I wanted to help him with his precious. He said it was irreversible. I wanted to help.” That surprised Harry to hear.

“He **asked** you first?”

“Of course. He is kind.” Harry looked up to the ceiling, there wasn’t ever going to be a way to convince the snake otherwise.

“Sure.” He continued to pet the snake, and she ever so slowly tried to climb into his lap. She was trying to be sneaky, Harry assumed, and allowed it.

“You give good pets, but our Master gives the best pets.”

“Literally anytime he’s touched my head he’s almost ripped my hair out. No thanks.”

“I will tell him not to do that next time then.”

“Please don’t.” He could only imagine the Dark Lord's reaction with Nagini telling him he wasn’t to grab at Harry’s hair anymore, only pet it nicely. He reached up and rubbed at his own head. He wasn’t sure the Dark Lord’s touch would be any better gentle, not that he’d ever let the man. Not even if his body seemed to think it was a glorious idea.

“I will.” He groaned and stopped petting the snake in favor to rub at his face. An unwanted flush grew across his cheeks and he hated how flustered he felt, for no reason. “Keep petting me, Harry.” And he did, but only because petting her scales seemed to calm him, not because he was growing to like her.

\---------------------

The four days following after the incident, Harry had yet to encounter Voldemort again. He had several wonderfly dull conversations with Nagini, and a couple more interesting ones. He asked her questions about her life, and she happily recanted some of her favorite moments. She said that before she became precious, she was allowed to go with the Dark Lord when he went away. She had her own chair, a smaller throne, for when the Dark Lord needed to walk around. Harry was busting a gut laughing, and Nagini expressed her displeasure with Harry rasping and rolling around. He tried to explain how funny it was that Lord Voldemort had a throne built just for his pet snake. The visual however tickled him, and he wasn’t able to explain it between gasps of breath. 

“Does he kiss you goodnight when you sleep with him too?” Nagini had spent some nights with Harry, curled around his form, and sometimes she actually left through the wall . The first time she did that Harry almost had an aneurysm, and he felt along the wall for a good hour. 

“Kissssss?”

“Yeah, you know…” How does one explain kissing to a snake? “Like this?” He leaned forward and laid his lips on the very top of her head, between her eyes. He got blinked at, and then her forked tongue slipped out.

“That was a kisssss?” Harry nodded. “I have never had one. Do it again.” Harry laughed, and his stomach hurt . It felt like he had abs from laughing so hard from before.

“Okay, but only once more.” He indulged the snake, and she hurriedly placed her head closer to his lips, and she bumped into his nose. “Ow- Hey!” He chuckled grabbing onto the sides of her head to hold her still. He pecked her again.

“It is a human thing?”

“Yes, people do it too- well it's something they do to show their love.”

“You love me?”

“I-No.” He answered too quickly, yet Nagini didn’t seem to take offense. “I meant, it's how we show affection. Like pets, or… when Voldemort gives in and feeds you a rabbit every time you ask.”

“Ah, I understand.” Just then his dinner arrived. The tray made a barely audible noise when it appeared, and Harry’s inner clock had actually been expecting it. He patted the bed, and Nagini grumbled before sliding off from across his legs. She watched him get up and approach the plate. Tonight was turkey with mashed potatoes and gravy. The vegetables were green beans, and the drink looked like a light red juice. Probably cranberry. He had just sat down and picked up the fork when Nagini pushed herself off the bed and hissed. “The meat.” Harry looked down at her with furrowed eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nagini will trade you.”

“What on earth could you give me as a tradable item?”

“...”

“Merlin's beard - just take it.” He threw the turkey breast to his fellow horcrux, then watched on in horror at the speed in which she struck at it. He couldn’t believe he let himself walk by her when he knew she was hungry . He was lucky to still have his feet. The thought made him start to bring his feet up onto the chair.

“You spoil her, Harry.” Harry dropped his fork and spun in his seat, Voldemort was standing behind him, watching the scene. Harry wasn’t sure how long the man had been in the room. Standing in the corner basked in the shadows creepily.

“You literally gave her her own throne. You spoil her.” Voldemort cocked his head, an almost smile gracing his lips. Seemed like he was in a good mood.

“You could have your own throne, Harry.” Was the extremely unexpected retort, and Harry gapped openly. What? What did that .... Oh. Oh . A throne like Nagini. A glorified pedestal. He grimaced, remembering Voldemort's comment from days ago.

“I won’t bow down to you in front of everyone.”

“I suppose it would be acceptable in private as well.” 

“I’m not- what? No.” His face heated up immediately, and he sputtered indignantly. Why did it feel like he was being flirted with? “Stop it.” Both wizards' attention was taken away when Nagini hissed happily between the two of them.

“When you pet Harry you must be gentle, Master. His fur is sensitive.” Harry closed his eyes, mortified. The link sparked amusement.

“...Is that so…” Was the curious response. 

“Yes.” Nagini said matter of factly. Harry opened his eyes and glared at the snake.

“Don’t listen to anything she has to say! She's confused.” He looked up to the Dark Lord and paused when he saw that the man was smiling deviously at him.

“Don’t worry, Harry. I promise to be gentle next time.” Harry felt like he was going to choke on his own spit, his face couldn’t get any more red.

“Why do you have to make things so weird? ”

“I find profound happiness in your extreme discomfort.”

“Wow. Awesome.” Harry nodded to himself, he already knew this but hearing the man admit it so freely was surreal . He’d had enough, and turned in his seat. He was going to eat his dinner, and if Voldemort wanted to stare at the back of his head, he could have fun with that.

“Master has been away for so long.”

“Yes, yes. I’ve had work to tend to.” Harry listened, but pretended like he wasn’t interested. He bit into his potatoes. “Tomorrow you’ll be able to show Harry the rest of the house.” Harry actually choked this time, because it seemed like the bastard had been waiting for Harry to have food in his mouth before dropping that bomb. He open-mouth coughed, and beat his own chest with his fist. Trying to dislodge the mash. He swallowed excessively, and took a drink of his cranberry juice before turning around again.

“Wait- Seriously?!” 

“You’ve behaved yourself and hadn’t immediately insulted me, I can be kind if you’d remembered.” It was true, their conversation hadn’t really gone into the name-calling territory. He wasn’t going to risk ruining this before he even got it, he’d been stuck in the room for probably two weeks and it was hell.

“When can I-”

“Tomorrow.” Was all that was said, then Voldemort left the room. Nagini followed after happily, joyed to be in his presence once again. 

Harry ate the rest of his dinner quietly, and dreamed about open doors that night. It didn’t turn into a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurhur the fork returns. 
> 
> Soon we will learn more about the house they have been staying in.
> 
> Hope you guys have been safe and healthy <3


	11. A Whole New World

Waking up without Nagini wrapped around his leg was disconcerting. He had grown used to her winding her way around his legs, and hissing in her sleep quietly. Sometimes Harry would just lay there and watch her. It felt quite lonely now. Sighing dejectedly, the teen sat up. He could tell just by feeling it, that his hair was an absolute nest today. He wasn’t given a comb in the bathroom, so it had been wetted and dried without a brush for so many days. He practically had an afro. Scratching his scalp, he quietly made to scooch off the bed. His feet touched the carpet and his robes pooled to the floor as he stood. He was hesitant to ask Voldemort for clothing that fit, he had a feeling that the man wouldn’t take too kindly to Harry if he started to demand things right after being given the ability to roam free. He would try to hint at it today if he got a moment. He didn’t know if he’d even see the Dark Lord. He had said that Nagini would be showing him around. If a house tour from a killer snake wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d ever done, then he wasn’t too sure what took the cake. His fork throwing wasn’t that odd, Voldemort obviously never had fun in his entire life.

“Ugh!” Harry groaned as he reached up and stretched his arms. He would have a quick shower and then wait for his breakfast. Looking over to the desk he noticed no blurry boxed object, a book was not left for him. He doubted Voldemort did something as plebeian as forget. Would there be a library? Would he even be allowed in it? There wasn’t any way he’d be allowed in all the rooms. There were rooms he wasn’t interested in seeing anyways. Like Voldemort's bedroom and bathroom. Shaking the thoughts from his head, Harry started stripping before entering the bathroom. He dropped the robe just outside the door, and took his pants off after closing it. He blindly felt up for the hilt of the handle and turned on the shower. Baths were out of the question apparently, because the plug for the drain never reappeared, and Harry was lucky to be allowed towels still. He washed quickly with the bar of soap, it smelled like nothing, and rinsed himself off. He turned the water off and stepped out of the tub. He reached for a towel, and dried his body off. Kicking the dirty pair of underwear away, Harry opened the bathroom door to the chilly bedroom. There was a dark figure on his bed, and he could tell it was long. He was glad he had wrapped the towel around his waist.

“Hello, Nagini.” He greeted, she hissed back incoherently. She was slow to wake in the morning, if Harry wanted to he could push her and she’d get grumpy. He turned to his left and headed for the dresser. By now the routine was pretty straight forward, pants and robe. Still no socks, he still checked the second small drawer every other day. Just in case Voldmert remembered that he was a normal human who actually felt things. Harry put on the robe first, that way he could put on his underwear without flashing Nagini. Not that she’d take offense, she technically was always naked . His breakfast appeared and he decided to go grab his glasses, tired of looking at the world through his broken eyes. He plopped them onto his face and reached over to the bed to pet Nagini briefly. She moved slightly, bumping her nose against his hand.

“Let’s sleep.” Harry scoffed.

“I just woke up from a very good sleep, I don’t need to sleep for a while.”

“A nap then.”

“You can nap while I eat my breakfast, then you have to let me out of here.” Nagini simply blinked at him, and he took it as a deal. He couldn’t feel impressions from her like he did with Voldemort, but she was pretty simple. Sitting down, Harry ate his omelet. The juice of the day was apple, and he had a couple links of sausage on the side of his plate. He’d feed them to Nagini, but his stomach was actually bothering him from not eating enough from the night before. He did spoil her. The clinking of the fork against the plate was the only noise made in the room for a couple minutes. Harry ate quickly, wanting to see the rest of the house as soon as possible. He decided to not lick the plate clean, and placed the fork onto the plate. It vanished, and Harry spun around in his seat. “Time to go!” He clapped his hands. Nagini lifted her head, and her tongue ducked out. She sluggishly began to move and Harry watched in amusement as she made a very dramatic slide to the end of the bed, and then kind of fell off it. Her body made a solid noise as it hit the floor.

“You must tell the door to open.” Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, he stood from his seat and followed her to the door.

“What do you mean, tell the door?”

“Just speak to it, and it will open.” Harry looked to the door and thought back to the Chamber of Secrets. 

“Open.” He hissed, and the door trembled slightly. A small noise along the seam of the door clicked, and the handle actually dropped by itself. The door swung open, and Harry stared dumbily into the hallway. “That… wouldn’t have worked before, right?”

“No.” She hissed back to him and started out the door. “Master did that while you slept. Only speakers can open it.” Harry felt dumb to not even think about trying to use parseltongue to get the door to open before. It wasn’t like he’d never done it before. Harry followed a couple paces after the snake, he peered around the corner of the door into the hall. It was very… normal. No blood on the walls, or even any paintings that he could see. The walls were a creamy yellow color, and held no decoration at all. It was very boring for the home of the Dark Lord.

“Where are the chains and whips?” He asked jokingly, forgetting about her straightforwardness.

“There is a dungeon in the basement, but you aren’t allowed down there.” Harry grimaced, he really hoped no one was being tortured right now. He was a bit surprised that he had never been sent down there.

“Okay… how about we start with the places I am allowed to go then.”

“Nagini will show you.” She slithered to the left, and Harry trotted after her. There were doors lining the hallways, three on the wall opposite to Harry’s room. Along the same wall were five doors, his being the fourth in sequence. The hall continued around the corner on both sides. Both doors to the immediate sides to Harry's rooms had closed doors. The furthest two were open, and lines of sunlight passed through the doorway. They reached the first one. Harry peeked around the corner to find a small room with light green walls. There was a cream colored rug, and furniture for sitting. It looked to be where someone might have tea with family, or an intimate get together. Nagini kept going, and Harry decided he could come back and take a closer look later. The next room was exceedingly more interesting, as it held floor to ceiling shelves filled with books. A small library in itself. “Some of the books bite.” Nagini said as she passed the door.

“I’m sorry- **What?** What does that mean?” 

“Master said there are mean books. That they will bite.” That wasn’t terrifying at all. Harry looked back at the shelves and eyeballed them carefully. They had The Monster Book of Monsters for Hagrid’s class, he hadn’t been aware of other sentient books with teeth. “Just bite them back to show you are meaner.”

“I don’t think your master would be very happy with me biting his books. But thank you for the advice.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry gazed at the rest of the room. On the far wall was a similar window from the one in his room, this one was longer however. Underneath the window was a long bench. All the remaining walls were covered with books. There was a small couch in the middle of the room, and a coffee table in front of it. On the other side of the table sat two very comfortable looking armchairs, between them was a taller circle table, probably for tea or other drinks for when you’re reading. 

“Does your master come in here often?”

“Master is your Master too.” Nagini replied, not answering his question. Harry shook his head and scoffed.

“No. He’s really not.”

“He is Master, we are precious.”

“I’ll stick with calling him his name.”

“Then I will call you ‘stupid boy who smells like cheese’.” Harry snickered, that was actually pretty good.

“Wait- I don’t smell like cheese!” Or at least he was pretty sure he didn’t. He literally showered not fifteen minutes ago.

“But you are stupid.” Harry frowned and held his hand over his heart. He sucked in a loud breath then whispered dramatically.

“Wow. That’s hurtful.”

“Stupid boy doesn’t call Master, Master.” She grumbled, but continued on. “The closed doors are all more nesting rooms.” Harry glanced down the hallway, there were six bedrooms in total then.

“Which one is His? That way I can avoid it.”

“Master sleeps in the room at the very end. He likes the corner one, it gets an extra window.” That meant Voldemort slept only two rooms away from him then. That thought gave him the creeps, Voldemort sleeping? Monsters didn’t sleep. Nagini disappeared around the corner, it turned to the right. Harry sped up to catch her. “There is a potions room, you are not allowed inside. Master says you make messes.” 

“I only make messes when I’m bored.” He countered.

“You are always bored.” This was very true, besides, he was a very messy potions worker. He didn’t have the coordination of Hermione, or the accuracy of Snape. Around the corner was another hallway, this one ended at a set of double stairs. Before the stairs there was one lonely closed door on the right. He assumed it was the lab because it was the room Nagini brought up. 

“I’m guessing all the doors closed are the ones I’m not allowed into?”

“Yesssssss.” Harry nodded to himself. That made it easy for everyone, and then Nagini wouldn’t get in trouble if she accidentally got a room wrong. 

“Did He say what would happen if I tried to go into one of those rooms?”

“...Cursed floor.”

“What?”

“Master told me to remind you about the cursed floor....Nagini does not know....” The cursed… Oh. That was after he tried the door for the second time. Magical shock collar it was then. Approaching the stairs, Harry rubbed at his eyes. Hopefully he wouldn’t accidentally go for a door thinking it was a different room. 

“That's alright, I understand.” The downstairs was a normal type of foyer, there were four large quadrants on this floor. The entryway, a large dining room, a sitting area meant for larger groups, and then a kitchen area that he apparently wasn’t allowed to see. The entryway/foyer was a spacious open concept that had walls covered in unmoving paintings of random boring things, muggle art, he realized. There were standing suits of armor, just like at Hogwarts, four in total. Along some of the walls had short benches. The dining room didn’t have a door, just a big entrance with a gorgeous archway. The room was a warm burgundy color, which made Harry think of Gryffindor. The table was skinny and very long, seven chairs one each side, plus two chairs at the head of the table. It had flowers in a vase, and place-mats. Harry doubted this table had ever seated anyone except the Dark Lord. In each corner of the room there was a matching side table with more flowers, Harry could smell them from the doorway, they were freshly cut, or perhaps magically kept alive for dinner parties to never occur. Even though the room had no windows, it was still bright. There was a crystal chandelier above the table, and Harry wondered about how beautiful it looked when lit. He’d have to try it.

The sitting area felt more like a stuffy pureblood house than any other room. It had a deep green theme, and all wood was dark, almost black. There sat a large ornate fireplace, the teen knew already the Floo wouldn’t work. He would still try of course, once he found the Floo powder. There was no way there wasn’t any in this house, he’d find it. There was a decently sized window against the front of the house, and when Harry peered out of it, he wasn’t surprised to see the same damn scene from his own window. The exact same scene. He was going to name that bird Voldemort because of how annoying it was. 

“Why aren’t I allowed in the kitchen, Nagini?”

“...Messy boy.”

“Is it because there are house elves?” The snake remained silent. Harry knew he had been right to guess there were some, but unless he could convince them to go against direct orders he didn’t think he’d even see one. “Not so stupid now, huh?”

“Yessss.” She hissed back, Harry chortled. Nagini was getting sassier and he took no responsibility. The rest of the house was simply half-bathrooms, a locked door beside the kitchen area that Nagini said led to the basement. There was a skinny set of stairs around the other corner upstairs that led to the attic, it had a scary black door that was locked. Harry was not permitted to go into it. There was one more door that was closed that was around the hall from the bedrooms, Nagini said he was allowed to enter should he have permission.

“It is Master’s study room. He stays in there mostly.” The snake slithered up to the door and hissed at it. Like his own door, it opened by itself. Harry hesitated to follow her when her tail disappeared. It would be weird to just go in there, right? Oh well . Digging up his courage Harry stepped in after her. The Dark lord had apparently been home this entire time, because he was sitting at his massive desk. There were scrolls everywhere, and stacks of books towering tall enough that it would make Madam Pince weep. Harry stood in the doorway, and Voldemort didn’t acknowledge that he was there. He knew that the man knew however, because he had stopped writing for a split second and an impression of annoyance fluttered through their link. It went away, and the Dark Lord continued his writing. Harry took that as a sign that it was safe for him to continue. He walked further into the room, and looked around. There weren’t dead bodies, or blood dripping down on these walls either. There were two armchairs in front of the desk, which was extremely large, excessively. No one needed a desk that big. Except Voldemort did apparently, because the majority of its surface was covered. Being a Dark Lord came with a shit ton of paperwork it seemed. That, or he was writing a novel with three rough drafts. Harry almost wheezed with terror when his eyes saw the fork, his fork , sitting innocently near the inkwell Voldemort was using for his quill. What the fuck was that doing there? Voldemort finally got tired of his gawking, because red eyes flickered up to meet his. This was awkward.

“So…” He started. His brain offered up ‘you come here often?’ but that was a pickup line, and obviously the Dark Lord came to his own study often. What could he bring up that wouldn’t end with him being impaled with the fork? “Kill any babies lately?” That was definitely not the thing to say if you didn’t want to be stabbed. Voldemort raised his non-eyebrow, then went back to working.

“Considering you are alive, that means I have yet to kill a single baby.” They then lapsed into a weird silence, and Harry took a seat in one of the chairs in the room. He watched Voldemort work, the man meticulously writing, grabbing different books and turning to specific pages. He’d often grab a scroll and gaze at it for periods at a time, then place it back in it’s spot. After a while Harry grew restless and sagged in his chair. He let himself slide down, until he was practically laying in the chair. “Must you sit like that?” The Dark Lord sighed.

“I guess not. Why?” He asked cheekily.

“Because it is extraordinarily annoying.” Harry sat up a bit, but not all the way. He could see Voldemort's eye twitch from here.

“I’ve been told that's something I’m especially good at. The whole annoying thing.”

“I can’t see why.” Back to their silence once again. Harry looked over to his left, there was a shelving unit with glass doors. Inside there were three different types of silver masks. One looked very similar to the one Lucius wore in the prophecy room. The other two were distinctly different. He wondered which one Bellatrix would wear, probably something that wouldn't ruin her lipstick. Harry snickered to himself, remembering her bloody nose.

“How’s Bellatrix’s face?” He asked with a fiendish smile. Voldemort looked up to him again

“For the golden boy, you sure take a lot of pleasure in her pain.” Harry stopped smiling. That wasn’t the reaction he wanted at all. It was like that . Sure- Yeah he enjoyed it, but she deserved it. It was different than torturing people, or hating an entire group of people for something they couldn't even control. But was that not what he was doing with pureblood's, or Slytherin’s? How was he any better? You aren’t better than anyone else.

“I’m not like you.” Harry whispered.

“I didn’t say that, Harry.” But he knew the man was thinking it. He could almost hear the others' thoughts. Harry didn’t respond to him, instead he stood up from the chair and walked as fast as he could out of the room. He wasn’t running away . 

That night Harry had nightmares. He watched his older self hold Death Eater’s under the cruciatus until they screamed no more, and no matter how much he begged, he wouldn’t stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stupid cheesy boy.


	12. Hugs and Sandwiches

The halls of the castle were empty. Every sound was amplified, and echoed loudly down the corridors. Students were forced to stay in their common room, and bedroom areas. The members of the Order were keeping watch, taking shifts. Students were not permitted to use the Floo, Owls, and many had their wands confiscated. The house elves brought meals to the students. It had been exactly 14 days since Harry’s disappearance, and each day brought more pressure for Dumbledore to step up and take out his second dark lord. It should have been more simple this time, as he wasn’t romantically involved with this one. Yet he was afraid. Not of dying, but of failing and leaving the world to deal with Tom on their own. There truly wasn’t any hope without him or Harry.

There had been a gathering of wizards who had come to the school to seek refuge, many who had lived or worked in neighboring villages. Many had been saved by his brother, using the secret passage behind the painting of Ariana. The Great Hall had been made into a makeshift bunker room for the adults, beds transfigured from chairs and other expendable items. Not three days ago had they welcomed two more parents, seeking shelter with their children. Xenophilius Lovegood had been welcomed with open arms, the woman accompanying him was one he had not met before. Delores Umbridge had identified the woman as a cousin, claiming that she wasn’t the sort to deal with. She ordered the Headmaster to turn Iris Hitbirk away, but the man denied her. Xenophilius had vouched for the witch, claiming she had saved him from Death Eater’s in their escape. She was a hero.

Umbridge held no power here anymore. Not with the threat of Voldemort on the streets, and she could no longer get a hold of any other ministry officials with being kept on the down low. Only the Order truly knew what had been going on, and she had voiced her concern over it, as they could be telling them anything. Yet, with her unfavorable track record, her concerns went unheard. Too many of the wizards looked up to Dumbledore, and believed every word he said. There were few neutral wizards, most behind the walls wanting to be an active part of the revolution. Some students had expressed their own interest in helping, some had wanted to leave. Only students of age would be considered, it was something Dumbledore would not budge on. He would not turn these children into soldiers.

There had been some exceptions in the detention, as the remaining Weasley family stayed in an old office. After news of their father being taken hostage, the family needed time to grieve. The eldest two, William and Charles had been unable to come back from their overseas positions, as international travel for wizards had been suspended. It was much too dangerous for them to attempt to sneak in using muggle means, and thus they had been notified to stay hidden. Within the last owl the two had met up, and awaited further instructions in a safe house alongside other allies.

“Albus, might we talk?” Filius’ squeaky voice asked. The Headmaster stopped his pacing, placing his hands behind his back. 

“My old friend, of course.”

“The barrier weaken s everyday,” The short man walked around the large desk, pushing his glasses up onto his nose. “We can only hold it for so long, the magic that is needed to feed it is draining us.” Taking one look at the half-goblin, it was visible. His skin had lost its color, his hair had no shine. Molly Weasley had lost all of her red coloring, it was a faded sandy color verging on white now. She looked much older than her age, wrinkles pronounced and stature starting to shorten. 

“How long-”

“Three days. It may even be two. The magic is drawing from our cores directly, any longer and it could kill us.” Albus closed his eyes. It was as he feared, Hogwarts would need to find another way to protect itself. Minerva had already dispatched the centennials, luckily they fed off the entirety of the castle. He knew in the back of his head that it was soon, as the witch had troubles transfiguring a simple table just a night before. Never in all her years while teaching had Minerva had trouble with transfiguring anything. Her magic was taking a huge toll.

“Then it is truly time to begin evacuating the students. We must keep them from the clutches of evil.”

“The passageway has been intercepted… We can’t think of moving them on foot? The forest is much too dangerous. 

“No, of course not. They will be watching the forest, any path that leads to the school.”

“Then how-”

“Apparition, my dear friend.” They had enough adults to safely travel, it would take multiple days, but they should be able to make it out of the country. Surely they would be granted asylum, America or Africa. Europe was out of bounds, as there were indeed followers of the Dark Lord throughout the corrupt government. America would be more likely to accept him and the students, as he was the one to save them from Grindelwald. He had close ties with the ministers in Africa, and had no doubt they would take in the large sum of wizards. Even if they needed to split the sum into two groups, they had to be a place for all [1].

“Would that be safe? Splinching-misaims! What about th-” The Headmaster raised his hand.

“I have full faith in it, Filius. Most Order members have excellent healing abilities. We have Poppy and Simon Liticus, he practiced medicine in his youth at St. Mungo’s. Splinching will not be an issue.” The shorter man looked like he wanted to say something, but he kept quiet. Not having enough energy to fight this fight. “I will send word to the Ministers and we will begin as soon as we hear back.”

They had to try something, and after the children were safe, then Dumbledore would have the courage to duel the Dark Lord. Without the threat of the children being taken, he would be able to breathe. To think. To fight.

\-----------------------

Iris’ first destination was the common rooms of her girls. She pleaded with the professor to allow her to hug her daughter. She had been given a meager five minutes alone with the girl. She was frightened, and cried into her shoulder. She pet her daughter's head, and whispered comforting words. She couldn’t say anything that would incriminate her, or reveal the plan. Her daughter always meant well, but she was unable to keep a secret.

“Listen to me, Amelia.” She wiped away the tears on her cheeks and smoothed her hair from her face. “You need to stay here, and you are only allowed to leave with myself, or your sister. Do you understand ?” She was given a nod accompanied by loud sniffs. “You’re going to be alright, my love.” She hugged her again. Their time was up. “I love you so much.”

The conversation with her elder daughter went differently, less tears and more questions. 

“What’s it like out there? What’s happening? Is he killing all the muggles, like they said?” Ivy clung to her mother's sleeve, talking a mile a minute.

“Ivy! Please-we only have a couple minutes.” Ivy's shut her mouth tight, and her features hardened. “Just know that you’re going to be alright.” She was given a doubtful look. “I promise you, everything is going to work out.” She removed the hands from her sleeves, and held them tightly in her own. She looked into her daughter's eyes. “I need you to keep your sister safe, as much as you can. Do let anyone take her away without you.” Ivy’s jaw clenched, and she looked like she wanted to cry. Instead she squeezed her moms hands and nodded in a silent promise. 

“They aren’t treating you horribly?” The small brunette shook her head.

“Everyone is so scared, mum. All of the first years and second year sleep in the rooms with the older girls. It feels better when we have large groups… but-” She hesitated, and bit her lip. “They took away some students. The ones who had family who were known Death Eaters.” A cold wave washed through the woman. “Draco Malfoy and his friends. There were two girls who were taken away and questioned, but they came back. Pansy Parkinson, and Chloe Gifflen.”

“What did they say?”

“Not much, they aren’t allowed to say anything about it. There was some sort of silencing charm placed on them, and their mouths didn't work when they tried.”

“I’ll look into it, darling. Thank you for telling me.” She pulled the child close to her, and placed a chaste kiss on her head. Their time was up, and she had a little bit more information to use. She would find out where the Slytherin’s were taken, and make sure they were alright. Xeno had gone off to see his own daughter, and his next job was to ask around about the shield. The man would have a much easier time connecting with the Order than she. Her job now was to get information out to the Death Eaters without being caught. 

She would use all her own wits to do this, her daughter didn’t get her intelligence from her father's side.

\-------------------------

Harry ignored breakfast that morning. He stayed in bed with the covers pulled up to his nose, dazing in and out of consciousness. He had several mini dreams, each as skin crawling as the last. In one of them he was back in the Room of Prophecies, but this time the prophecy relayed that Sirius Black would kill Harry Potter. When he had turned around Sirius stabbed him with a fork in the chest, above where his heart would be. 

Another was him trapped inside a small container, forced to watch Voldemort rule over a terrified group of civilians. He was inside of a jewel, resting on a necklace worn by the Dark Lord. Trapped and voiceless, floating in nothingness. The last one he had was of him at a beach. The sand was almost white, and the sun was blazing against his skin. He walked and walked, yet couldn’t find any shelter. The water turned red, and his skin began to melt off his bones. He watched in dismay as he melted like a candle, flesh strips sliding off and landing on the clear sand. The bones in his feet became visible, and he could feel the grains of sand between the bones. He looked to his right, and Hermione was standing on the shoreline with him. She shook her head, and her hair began to fall out as her scalp drooped.

“Sand. It gets everywhere.” Then as her lips began to fall off he jerked himself awake. He was covered in sweat again, his hair plastered to his forehead and back of his neck. His stomach rumbles loudly, and the teen threw off the blankets in a rush. Moving the robe as he checked that his toes were intact and had all of his skin. Other than the phantom feeling of a sunburn, his body was how it normally was. He scooted to the edge of the bed, throwing his legs over the side. He looked over to the table, and noted that the plate for breakfast wasn’t there. He didn’t think he could eat right now, not even if he was starving to death. The image of Hermione’s scalp made him almost gag. 

He decided on a shower. He had one everyday, so it was more of a routine now than a time passer. All this showering had started making his skin dry, but without lotion he wasn’t able to combat it. It was between dry skin, or living with damp hair and a smell that no one would enjoy. It was an easy decision.

He stripped his clothes while he sat on the bed, not wanting to wear the wet robe that was chilling him. He walked naked to the bathroom and turned the shower on, usually he put it on hot. Allowing the steam to fill the room and heat it. He decided against it this time, not wanting to feel like he was burning again. He chose a lukewarm temperature, bordering on cold. Harry stepped into the water and stood until the steady stream. He turned his back to the shower, letting the water fall over his shoulders and down his front. He lazily ran his hands over his skin, from his shoulders to his chest. He let his hands roam downwards, passing over his protruding ribs and towards the bottom of his stomach. He tilted his head back, allowing the water to soak his hair and run over his forehead. 

He felt himself relax bit by bit, and he let his hand lower to his groin area. He hadn’t had a wank since before Umbridge made him scar his own hand. He had been so busy, and stressed. But now, his body seemed to like the idea. Before he could make contact with his prick he heard a loud hissing noise and Nagini’s head came into view. 

“Hey!” Harry screeched and tried to cover himself. She pushed the shower curtain away and nosed her way over the edge of the tub.

“Nagini wants the falling water too.” She continues to pull her body into the tub. Harry backed up as much as he could, past the water and against the cold wall.

“You can’t just come in!”

“I just did." Harry groaned. “Make it warmer.”

“Fine. I’ll turn the heat up, but I’m getting out.” Harry made sure to keep himself covered with his right hand while he reached around and turned the handle to hot. The temperature change was instantaneous and the air started to fog up. Harry stepped out of the tub through the other side, careful not to slip on the floor that began to puddle underneath him. Nagini hissed happily behind the curtain, her entire body in the tub now.

“I like the warm rain.” Harry shook his head, sending droplets of water in all directions. He grabbed a towel and began to pat his hair.

“I like it too, but you can’t just come into the shower with me like that.”

“The door was open.” The teen scoffed, now rubbing at his neck and chest.

“That doesn’t mean you can hijack my bathing time.” He was worried that the snake wouldn’t understand the word hijack, but parseltongue had a strange way of translating his English. He finished drying his upper body, and started along his midsection.

“But I did,” The snake replied, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I noticed.” He finished his legs quickly, and wrapped the towel around his waist. He continued out of the warm room, and went straight to his dresser. He decided to get dressed first and then turn the water off after. Allowing Nagini a couple more minutes under the spray of the heat. He was beginning to think that he did spoil her. He doubted Voldemort allowed her to barge in on his shower time. Did Voldemort even shower? Was he like Nagini, in the sense that he enjoyed warmth more because of his snake-like attributes? How snakey was he under his clothes anyways? Harry choked on air and he covered his own face. His mind went straight to the obvious, thinking about genitalia as a teenage boy does. 

“No. No way . A tail. Yup -just a weird tail maybe and scales or something. That’s it .” He couldn’t believe his mind went there. Would his body even have a belly button? It wasn’t birthed… “Oh Merlin. Please just stop,” Harry begged his own brain.

A clattering to his left startled the half naked boy, and he almost dropped the robe he had just about to put on. Squinting his eyes and could see that a tray of food appeared, meaning it must be lunch already. Bunching the robe up, Harry stuck his head through the hole, his arms following. The robe fell heavily to the floor, and Harry ignored the food in favor of going back into the bathroom.

“It’s time to get out.” The teen announced. He got a sharp unhappy hiss in reply, and for a moment he was afraid to reach his hand in the shower to turn it off. She wouldn't bite him for it, right? Only one way to find out. Harry nudged the curtain away, and felt up the tiles for the handle. His fingers met a metal surface and he tugged the handle all the way to the right. The water ceased, and Nagini hissed again. 

“But it feels so nice.” She whined as she stuck her snout out of the curtain, just near Harry's retracting hand. He screeched again, and tried to step away, thinking she was going in for the kill. In his retreat he hit the toilet with his leg and fell sideways. He only just caught himself using the wall.

“You just gave me a heart attack!” Harry grasped at his chest while turning around. Gulping in a large breath. He had been so scared at that moment.

“Good. You turned off my warm,” She replied as she lifted herself out of the tub. The horcrux lowered herself to the tiled floor, and bypassed Harry all together. She left the bathroom, and Harry stuck his tongue out into her direction. He went to follow her out when he stepped into a puddle left over by Nagini, and he almost fell for the second time. 

“Gah!” His foot flew out from under him, and he swung his arm the opposite way to try and kept balance. He ended up doing a stupid dance when his other foot decided to join in and slide slightly. “For fuck sakes!” Harry yelled as he grabbed for dear life onto the counter top. He breathed heavily against the cool stone, then began to chuckle. It must have looked so silly. He was glad no one saw it, because they for sure would make fun of him.

Carefully stepping out of the bathroom, Harry used the carpet to wipe his wet feet. The bottom of his robe had gotten wet however, and rubbed against his feet when he walked. Causing the tops to get damp. Harry groaned and vowed to talk to Voldemort about the clothing situation the next time they talked. Walking towards the bed, he noticed that Nagini was lying on the mattress, using his bedding to dry off.

“Are you serious?” He moaned. 

“I am Nagini.” The snake responded smartly. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. Her attitude only got worse, and Harry couldn’t even blame it on anyone but himself. Choosing to stay quiet, Harry instead grabbed his glasses from the nightstand. He turned around and passed the desk all together. His stomach was angry, but he couldn't muster up the motivation to eat. He wanted to find somewhere quiet and just wallow by himself. He could probably choose any other room and close the door. The chances of there being a way for Nagini to open every door was slim. Harry didn’t believe the man would take the time and magic to charm every door with the parseltongue command.

“You can have my lunch if you want.” He said over his shoulder as he left the room. The door had been left open from when Nagini slipped in. He decided on going to the larger sitting area downstairs. He still wanted to check the fireplace that was in there for any signs of Floo powder. Harry walked down the hall, and turned to the right, he made his way down the stairs and walked to the open door. He turned to shut the door, but to his surprise , there wasn’t one . It was simply an arch way. Harry felt extremely stupid, how did he not notice that this room had no door? It made sense, sure, but he still was irked by his own inability to be observant. He went to leave when the corner of the room caught his eye. It was darker than the rest of the room, being on the same wall, but opposite side than the window. There was a modest sized piano tucked away, sitting as far into the room as it could be. 

A piano? Why would Voldemort have a piano? Did he play? Walking up to the large instrument, Harry could tell it hadn’t been touched in a while. The fallboard that covered the keys was down, and had begun to collect dust. There was no sheet music on the built in stand either. Harry didn’t know anything about playing the piano, he hadn’t been allowed to learn any instruments. It never really appealed to him. He ran his fingers along the fallboard, creating streaks through the dust. He was too absorbed in his musings that he hadn’t realized that he was no longer alone in the room.

“The house elves said you have refused to eat.” Harry raised his hands so fast, feeling like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have. He spun around to face the Dark Lord, his hands still up in a defensive pose. The intimidating silhouette of Voldemort stood, blocking the only exit.

“I just- I wasn’t hungry earlier.” He explained, slowly dropping his hands. It was a big fat lie, Harry had been starving the moment he woke up. Voldemort was still, and his face betrayed nothing. The link was quiet, and Harry was sure it had been closed off since he stormed out of the man's office yesterday. Thinking about yesterday made Harry cringe. 

“Then you will join me for lunch **now.** ” Harry noticed it wasn’t a suggestion. The boy frowned, and began to roll the fabric of his sleeve between his finger tips. He had wanted to be alone, even if just for a little bit. Before he could respond in any way, the Dark Lord swiveled around and stalked away. The words ‘follow me’ floating in the air. Without much of a choice, Harry strode after him. To his confusion, the man did not lead him to the dining room. Instead he was led back upstairs.

“I thought we were going to eat..?” He wondered loudly. He continued to follow behind the skeletal man, who hadn’t turned even once to see if he was still following.

“I take my meals in my study. ” Was said after a moment. Harry didn’t know how to respond to that so he chose not to. They walked the rest of the way silently. It was extremely awkward, and Harry started thinking about how he’d much rather shower with Nagini again. They entered the room, and the Dark lord walked to his own seat behind the desk. Harry noticed that the paperwork was less than yesterday, and what was left had been piled into perfect stacks. He decided to sit in the same chair as yesterday, even if it made his skin prickle. Voldemort sat in his own chair, and waved his hand over a spot in front of him. A tray with plates appeared, one plate filled with small sandwiches, and the other a platter with crackers, cheese, and meats. Grabbing one corner piece of a sandwich, Voldemort waved the plate away, and it slid across the desk easily.

The Dark Lord then began to eat his piece while reading over a parchment. Harry felt like he couldn't take his eyes off the man. Voldemort eating finger sandwiches? It baffled him seeing the dark, scary wizard doing things that were so ordinary. He even held the bread like a normal person . His hands still looked like claws however, and he wasn’t envious of the sandwich. Those nails threatened to shred the bread while he just held it. Harry didn’t understand why the Dark Lord needed long nails anyways, his fingers were plenty long. It didn’t seem like a hygiene thing either, because they were always clean. He watched the man bring the food to his mouth and spoke aloud.

“Your fingers are so long.” He commented, and immediately felt like an enormous dolt. Voldemort turned his attention to the teen, his mouth pausing from opening. If the link was open he was sure the man would be confused as all hell. Instead of dignifying him with a response, Voldemort turned back to his parchment and continued to eat. Harry opted to try and keep this conversation going. “We’re they always like that?” He questioned. He already knew the answer, because he had seen Tom Riddle, and that boy had normal hands. Voldemort didn’t even look up this time, and Harry thought the man was ignoring him now.

“No.” Came the delayed answer. Harry, now frustrated with the lack of engagement pressed on.

“Do you play the piano?” This time the link did spark. He felt something close to surprise. Shock perhaps? The Dark Lord put the piece of parchment down and leaned back in his chair, looking at Harry directly now. The teen wasn’t sure if this was better or worse than not having his attention at all.

“No. I didn’t have the time. Because I focused on my studies.” Came the very… honest response. The second part didn’t even feel like a jab towards him, merely an explanation for his simple question. Harry felt a loss for words, at least he had answered one of his questions. He still however had no idea as to why there was a piano in the house at all.

“Oh…” The teen remarked lamely. After looking to the man's fingers again he added, “I think you’d be really good at it.” And he did. He could see the man mastering anything he wanted to, including instruments. He had no idea where this conversation was going, but neither of them was storming away or attacking the other. So this was good, right? Voldemort’s eyes slightly narrowed, he was perplexed.

“Thank you,” He uttered before leaning forwards and continuing his reading. A moment later he blandly said “Now be quiet and eat or get out.”

It made Harry want to laugh. Voldemort was uncomfortable with being complimented by him. He could just feel the edge of the link, it was slightly open. Just enough that Harry could tell Voldemort’s guard had been let down a bit. He left it alone however, in favor of grabbing a couple slices of the finger sandwiches. His stomach growled angrily and he ate the pieces one by one whole. He stuffed them into his mouth, and after the second he wished he had something to wash the bread down.

Internally shrugging he grabbed for another piece, not realizing that Voldemort was watching him. The crimson eyes following his every move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIHIHIHIHI <3 Sorry for the long wait. Hope you're all healthy and safe.
> 
> [1] The population of students in Hogwarts has been said to be around 1000 students. So Dumbledore is thinking of taking half of them to America, and the other half to Africa. With the extra hands, there are around 52 wizards taking refuge, this is not including teachers, house elves, and Order members. With my numbers, there would be around 10 students for each individual wizard. There would be seventh years who may already know how to apparate. It is doable, as long as it is done safely, and with the correct destination in mind.
> 
> So yes, Umbridge is still at Hogwarts. During the takeover of the ministry she was unable to leave. The Floo was blocked, and she stayed at the castle. Hermione and Ron are still there, both with the Weasley family. The castle was taken back by Dumbledore when the Order infiltrated it, and Umbridge has no real power anymore. 
> 
> As I’ve stated before, I’m taking huge liberties with the shielding spell, as not much is known about it. The shield stays up as long as the casters are able to provide it with a healthy flow of magic. With four adults it was able to withstand quite a bit of time, but wizards magic depletes overtime and needs to recuperate, much like when people give blood. It is not sustainable for long periods of time.


	13. Hard Talks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to edit this and make it the best that I could. I'm only one person, please don't hate me for misspellings x.x

Harry had ended up staying in the study with Voldemort for the rest of the evening. Dinner arrived and they ate in peace. They hadn’t spoken much after the piano talk, the Dark Lord had worked on his world domination plans, or his very long tacky romance novel. Harry had grabbed a random book off the smaller shelf along one of the walls. Voldemort hadn’t said anything, so he assumed it was alright. 

The book hadn’t been the most interesting, and contained a few too many graphic photos of dismemberment than Harry would have liked. He could confidently say he now knew what human intestines looked like when they were taken out of a live person. This wasn’t something he was proud of. After the fake sun in the window began to set, Harry chose to put the book back and head to his room. He felt much too awkward to bid goodbye to the Dark Lord, so he just left quietly.

Nagini was laying on his bed still, in a different position. She didn’t react to Harry, and he assumed she was asleep. It was hard to tell sometimes because her eyes were always open. Even when she blinked, it wasn’t really blinking. It was a clear membrane that fluttered over her eyes, and it twitched when she refocused on something. Harry remembered reading somewhere that they never really closed their eyes. 

He stripped himself of his robe, dropping it onto the floor before crawling onto the bed. He tried to be gentle, to not jostle Nagini. The sheets and blanket weren’t wet any longer, thankfully, so Harry shimmied his way underneath them. He took his glasses off and placed them on the nightstand. 

Nagini shifted, moving around in the dark slowly. The sound of rustling sheets quieted soon after. Her cool scales found their way against his skin, he reached his arm out, and the snake curled towards his body. Her neck rested over his outstretched arm, offering a comforting weight. With his free arm, the teen pet the other horcrux briefly. She let out a quiet hiss, and Harry turned more on his side, moving closer to the snake. Her scales were cool, but the feeling he got in her presence felt nice. A strange completeness resting in his core, like he was where he needed to be. Harry moved as close to the snake as possible, both now entwined with each other.

Harry’s last thoughts before falling asleep, was that he’d never tell a soul about how he spooned and cuddled with a deadly snake.

\------------------------ **-**

Harry Potter was back in his cupboard. 

It was dark, and he felt a web brush up against his cheekbone. He had many nightmares about it, this black place, but this time it felt different. He was aware that he was dreaming and not actually a child in the cupboard under the stairs. He was still in his bed wrapped up with Nagini, his brain knew this.

He couldn’t feel her however, even when he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on his body. It was a queer sensation, knowing one was dreaming yet being unable to do anything about it.

“Okay… this is… not the worst.” He said into the dark void. His voice was that of his child self, pubescent. It was strange to hear it, and even more odd to feel it come from his own throat. “I’m just...“ there was a word for this, but Harry couldn’t think of it. Where one could control their dreams, or when they were aware they were dreaming. He was sure that word started with a P, or maybe an R… a lot of good words begin with the letter R. He felt it on the tip of his tongue, but before he could figure it out there was a quiet shuffling noise somewhere out in front of him, the teen immediately felt eyes on him.

“ **Lucid** dreaming, Harry.” Came the familiar drawl. Voldemort was in his cupboard.

“What are you doing in my dream?” The teen asked, narrowing his eyes in the direction of the smaller door. He was trying to figure out where the man was exactly. The cupboard was pretty small, so he had to be close.

“Not much of a dream, Harry.” The Dark Lord responded dryly. Harry felt himself flush, he was glad it was too dark to see. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” Harry bit back defensively. Was it weird to be embarrassed about dreams? Harry thought so. You could dream of flying, maybe places you've never been before, or impossible things. Yet here he was, dreaming about the small room he had been locked in as a child.

“Ah.” Was all the man said in response. Harry waited for more, but Voldemort stayed quiet, seemingly content to stay silent. Harry glared into the darkness, folding his arms. The link fluttered open, and Harry could tell the man was laughing at him. Harry scowled, sinking further into the shitty mattress beneath his small body.

“What the hell is so funny?” He bit out, becoming agitated quickly. The room was quiet, and Voldemort was contemplating. How hard was it to answer a simple question? 

“You.” Came the delayed response. This took Harry off guard, he tightened his crossed arms, practically hugging himself.

“What about me?” He asked simply, his frown deepening when the link vibrated.

“You look absolutely ridiculous sitting there, wearing your childhood face.” 

“I do not!” He shouted back indignantly, sounding very much like a child. 

He wasn’t all that goofy looking as a child, at least not that he could remember. Other than that time his aunt shaved all his head but left his fringe. Harry reached up to double check that he still had all his hair. Fortunately he had a full head, as messy as it was. 

“How can you see me?” He asked, hugging his knees. He was near the far corner, and could feel the wooden panels digging into his spine. “It’s pitch black in here.” He grumbled. The link buzzed, and Harry could tell the man was absolutely loving this.

“Is it?” Was all that was said. Harry groaned loudly, uncrossing his arms and sticking his hands into his hair. He scratched at the nest, making the curls spring around wildly before dragging his hands down his face. He latched onto his checks and grabbed in frustration.

“You’re actually evil.” He accused, as if that already wasn’t a well-known fact. Before a retort could be made, somewhere above Harry came the sound of a slamming door. A loud stomp above his head caused him to flinch violently, digging his nails into his own flesh accidentally. Fear was all he felt, gone was the frustration. In a fraction of a second Harry forgot he wasn’t really back at Privet Drive. “No.” He whispered, drawing his knees back up to his chest. He shuffled away from where he knew the door to be, backing himself into the corner. There was another large sound, followed by more. Someone was coming down the stairs. By the intensity of the steps, Harry knew it was his uncle.

His heart pounded loudly in his chest as his stomach filled with stone. With every step that was taken he could feel panic rise with equal force. His body started to shake, bile rising in his throat. He knew if he puked it would all be stomach acid. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he was allowed to eat.

He started having trouble breathing. He couldn’t seem to get enough air into his lungs, and started to continuously gulp in breaths. It was painful. Harry grasped at his chest, pulling on his nightshirt. His head felt far too light, but he couldn’t stop inhaling. He wasn't able to exhale to complete his breath, and his lungs just kept filling. At this rate they would fill completely and pop like a balloon. 

The door locks jangled, and Harry violently threw his small body to the floor of the cupboard, hoping that if he got in between the wall and the small space beside the bed that his uncle wouldn't be able to reach him. He misjudged the distance however, and fell straight down, his arm not catching on anything, and the side of his head hit the wall with a hard thud.

\------------------------ **-**

He opened his eyes, and it was too bright. He was back in his room, and had fallen off the bed. The sheets had wrapped around his legs, and he was still hyperventilating. 

“Harry?” Came a frightened hiss from above him. He couldn't respond however, his whole body was in flight mode, yet he couldn’t move. “Harry!” The hissing was louder this time, closer to his ear. He felt Nagini’s nose bump against his exposed shoulder. He curled away from her, into a fetal position. He had stopped inhaling, but now it was as if he was frozen. His throat constricting and heart hammering at his rib cage. The oxygen stuck somewhere between his lungs and the back of his tongue. 

He scratched at his bare chest, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. He was sure his vision would be blacking out if he was able to keep his eyes open. 

“Harry.” Came the hissing again, but this time it was deeper, calmer. Harry tried to curl further in on himself, but a cold hand found its way to his chest, and another on his back. There was pressure applied to both areas, a hand pushing against his own on his chest, and the other between his shoulder blades. “Breath out,” was directed, and Harry wanted to shake his head. Because it wouldn’t work, it just wouldn't. Yet when more pressure was added to his upper body he felt the air try to escape. “Breath out, Harry.” 

The teen then exhaled loudly, feeling an incredible release of pressure from inside of him. Harry exhaled until he was sure that his lungs had nothing left. The hands on his body released him slightly, and he knew he was supposed to breathe in again. 

“Breath in with your nose, slowly.” Voldemort instructed, and Harry tried his best to follow the orders. He was able to breath in, and exhaled through his mouth. The hand on his back was continuous applying pressure, and he tried to focus on the thumb pressing into just below his left shoulder blade. When he inhaled fully he could almost feel the nail starting to dig into his skin. The hand was cold, yet it warmed his skin where it made contact. 

This continued for another couple minutes, until Harry felt like he wasn’t going to puke or pass out. His breathing was back within a normal range. Opening his eyes, he could see that it was bright in the room. Without his glasses it was blurry, but he could tell it was light from the window. It must have been morning then. Closing his eyes again, the teen laid there quietly. The hands on his body started to pull away, and he couldn’t stop a whine from leaving his throat. The Dark Lord's hands hesitated slightly, pulling away entirely after a long moment. 

The room was quiet for a while, and Harry wasn’t sure how long he laid there. He didn't even know if Voldemort had left or not. All he knew was that he was covered in sweat, and getting colder every second he stayed on the floor as it chilled against his exposed flesh. Harry opened his eyes again, and shifted, moving to sit up slowly. He felt shaky, but was much more stable than before. He felt exhausted, his legs were jelly.

“Your body is trying to recover from its sudden release of adrenaline.” The Dark Lord offered from his left. Harry was too fatigued to be startled. 

“I don’t feel good.” He admitted quietly, sitting up fully and leaning against the bedside. He felt like he had just run a marathon.

“The post-rush drop of blood sugar will do that.” Came matter-of-factly, as if this was something Voldemort was an expert on. He probably was, with all his books about human anatomy. "You will need to eat something."

“I will definitely vomit if I eat.” Harry sighed out while he flexed his fingers. He really wanted this internal shaking to go away.

“Then drink.” The Dark Lord commanded as an extremely cold, and wet object touched his shoulder. Looking over to his left he could tell that there was a glass of orange juice up against him. Raising his blurry vision, he glanced to the black figure standing close by. Voldemort was hovering closely, looking down at him. Without his glasses he couldn’t tell what the man's facial expression was, and the link was suspiciously quiet. 

Reaching for the glass, Harry carefully and slowly brought the cup to his mouth. He had to use both hands, not trusting the strength of just one. The first sip was hard, but it was so, so delicious. He sipped on the juice, and could see Voldemort move towards the desk out of his peripheral. The Dark Lord sat down, turning the chair so that it mostly faced his direction. The teen could tell the man wanted to say something, else he would have left. Dropping the glass from his mouth, he held it against his leg and looked over to the snake face.

“What?” He asked and Voldemort wasted no time in asking his question

“Who was coming down the stairs, Harry?” Ah… so the man couldn’t contain his curiosity?

“No one.” Harry said dismissively, his jaw clenched unwillingly.

“Clearly it was someone you fear. Someone even more than I.” The Dark Lord pushed. Harry couldn’t tell if the man was just curious, or jealous that someone else could push him to having a panic attack.

“It was just a dream.” He retaliated, but the man wasn’t giving up.

“That may be, but the panic was real. You forget that I feel what you feel, Harry.” Voldemort leaned forward in his chair, “I know you.” he stated and Harry refused to look back over in that direction. He did not want to talk about this, he wanted to forget. Forgetting is easier. He decided not to respond, instead sipping his juice again. The quiet hung in the air, and it became increasingly awkward with every passing second. The Dark Lord leaned back into his chair, and drummed his long fingers on the desk. The red eyes stared at him as he drank, and the fingers only stopped when he finished the glass. “Why do you eat like you’ve been starved, Harry?” 

The teens hands gripped tightly against the cup, his knuckles turning white. He was always self conscious about his eating, he didn’t want to talk about it. Talking made it real, he didn’t want it to be real. It was easier to pretend. Swallowing hard, Harry cleared his throat.

“Maybe I’m pretending to be a vicious beast, consuming my prey before it can even think to fight back.”

“If I believed you then I would say you’ve been spending too much time with Nagini.” The staring continued, and Harry nervously tapped his fingers against the glass of the cup. “You were gaunt as a child.” He prodded, and Harry felt sick in his stomach again. He didn’t want Voldemort to know, but the man already knew. He was intelligent, quick at connecting dots and getting to the conclusion before anyone else. He could easily rip it from Harry's mind if he wanted as well, but he didn’t need to, because he already knew. Harry stared at the last remnants of the orange juice in the bottom of the glass, some pieces of pulp sticking to the edges. The words bubbled out of him as he stroked the smooth surface. There was no point in hiding it. Voldemort wasn't going to leave him alone.

“I had to learn to eat fast, because my uncle might have decided to take it away.” He admitted. “The faster I ate, the more likely I’d get to eat it all.” Shame pooled in his gut, and he immediately regretted saying anything at all. His fingers began tapping the glass again.

“You were mistreated then.” 

“...I guess?” He muttered while staring at the floor.

“You grew up with family, correct?” This was another piece of information that Harry knew that the Dark Lord was already aware of.

“I wouldn’t really go as far as calling them that, but yes.” The teen nodded slowly. 

“Muggles?” The Dark Lord asked, nodding as if this confirmed his suspicions. Harry felt his body go rigid, he wasn’t in the mood to be lectured.

“Yes.” He hissed through clenched teeth. “I see where you’re going with this. You aren’t going to be able to convince me that all muggles are bad just because of them. Just because I got saddled with shitty ones who abused me, doesn't mean that all muggles are like that.” He fumed, Hermione’s parents were amazing people. Not to mention, he heard so many great stories from his mates about their parents.

“Abused.” Was the simple response. Harry turned his head and narrowed his eyes.

“What?”

“You used the word abused.” Voldemort observed, and Harry opened and closed his mouth. Did he say that? His tongue felt heavy and went dry, he wished he had more juice. That was the first time he’d said it out loud like that. Voldemort crossed his legs, and sat back. “What else did they do to you, Harry?” Without the link Harry couldn’t feel what the man was feeling, nor could he even see his facial expression. He hated that he couldn’t figure out the man's objective. Was he enjoying this?

“I’m not going to feed into your sick little fantasy,” he spat. He was done with this conversation, he didn’t want to talk about this anymore. Especially not with the man who was responsible for him being in their care in the first place. Harry slammed the glass cup down on the floor and stood. He was still light headed, and he could feel himself sway a little. Harry ignore his body and forced himself to start walking. He was still just his pants, but he was far too angry at this moment to care. The Dark Lord uncrossed his legs as Harry passed him.

“On the contrary, I am not enjoying this conversation.” The man stated, standing up now. Harry ignored him and grabbed for the robe he had discarded last night. He scoffed loudly before maneuvering it over his head. “Abuse of magical children inside of the muggle world is an extremely important topic,” Harry paused just in the doorway. “I am currently in the midst of developing a system which will eradicate the mistreatment of underage wizards.” 

The Dark Lord was standing directly behind him, Harry could feel it. He turned around, and had to crane his neck to look up at the white face.

“What are you going to do?” He asked suspiciously, rubbing the sleeve of the robe between his fingers. It was slowly becoming a nervous tick. The Dark Lord tilted his head slightly, and a movement to Harry’s left made him flinch as Voldemort's wand righted itself. The wooden piece flicked, and the robes on Harry’s frame shrunk. It felt odd to be in clothes that fit. Harry refused to thank the man.

“We will be removing magical children from the muggle world altogether-”

“You’re just going to kidnap them?” He asked, his voice rising. “Are you actually that insane?!” Harry took a few steps back, wanting to create space between them while he stared at the other in disgust. 

“Only the muggle born children will be removed completely.” The man said, as if that made it any better. It made Harry think of Hermione growing up without her parents. “The muggle parent of half blooded children will have the option to integrate into our community, or forfeit their involvement completely.” The Dark Lord commented as if he was talking about something trivial, like the weather.

“No one should be taken from their parents.” Harry said slowly, glaring at the dark wizard. How could anyone think of just taking someone’s kids away because they themselves weren't magical? It was wrong. So, so wrong.

“You wouldn’t have been abused at the hands of your family had this exact system been put into place years ago.” Harry saw red.

“Don’t you dare. I wouldn't have been there in the first place if you hadn’t killed my parents!” Harry choked out, he sounded absolutely pathetic to his own ears. The teen turned to his right and walked as fast as he could down the hall, needing to get away. He had to leave, to get out. The Dark Lord followed him, his long legs carrying him easily. Frustration and irritation bled through their bond, strongly entwined into the two was confusion. 

“Harry-”

“Fuck off.” He cried out while wiping away the tears that threatened to form. His vision was skewed enough as it is without him crying. “Just leave me alone.”

“If you’d cease being so emotional and listened to what I have to say, then you would understand why this course of action-”

“Your course of action is shit.” Harry spat. He decided on going to the small library, then he’d have books to throw at Voldemort, maybe they would bite him too. He crossed the threshold into the room and tried to slam the door shut, but Voldemort was not only stronger, he also had magic. The door refused to close, and whatever impact it may have had was stopped by a casual wave of a hand. The door flew back open wide, and Harry backed away. Voldemort however didn’t seem angry, and instead walked at Harry. He continued to back up until he stumbled onto one of the chairs, almost toppling over the arm of it. 

“Muggles cannot be trusted.”

“Says you.”

“Says history,” The Dark Lord countered as Harry scrambled to place the chair between the two of them. “Salem witch trials.”

“That was so long ago, people have changed.” 

“Have they?” The older wizard questioned. He had stopped moving towards Harry, giving him a sense of security behind his chair.

“We- we have the statute of secrecy.”

“Which isn’t in any way sustainable. Especially since wizards have mingled so thoroughly with muggles. What do you think will happen should wizardfolk be found out, Harry?” The teen hesitated.

“We could learn to get along. To live side by side.”

“Do you truly think muggles would accept us? When they have wars that raged against their own simply because of religious means?”

“It’s- things are different now.” Harry tried, but he wasn’t the most up to date on muggle current affairs.

“The Rwandan genocide in 1994.” Voldemort offered, and held a hand up when Harry went to reply. “The 1993 World Trade Center bombing followed by the Oklahoma City bombing, both terrorist acts within the United States of America fueled by the hate between the west and east.” Harry felt his mouth go dry, he hadn’t known about either of those. “There is an ongoing Burundian civil war, in which children are being used as soldiers, a country torn in on itself. Need I continue?” Harry looked down at the chair. “A large majority of muggles can’t accept their own because they have different skin colors, or because of who they love. Could you look me in the eyes and tell me truthfully that you think they would accept us should we come out of hiding? Would they truly not rage war against us, if not out of prejudice, then out of fear?” It was a hard question, one that Harry couldn’t answer.

“I- I don’t know.” Harry admitted quietly.

“This is the only way.” Harry finally looked back up, there had to be something else.

“But-”

“Muggles and Wizards are not equal, Harry. We know this, and they would know it. They’ve shown what they do to those they deem dangerous.” Voldemort’s voice lowered. “I had seen the damage done during the Blitz, I saw the decimated version of London in the aftermath. The chaos, the bombings, the fear. Were you aware that muggle born students during that time were not given asylum at Hogwarts? They were sent back home, even during the active bombing threats.” Harry hadn’t been aware.

“That’s-they just.. sent them back?” Voldemort nodded.

“There are special precautions that stop our communities from being affected by the weapons, yet there are none for those outside the community. Wizards who choose to live in the muggle world are unprotected. Wizards who are born into the muggle world don’t often have a choice until they are of age. By then they are often more likely to choose the muggle world, as that is where their families reside,”

“So you see, Harry. I am not advocating to remove children simply because I dislike muggles, I am trying to keep the children and our people safe.”

“Where would they go?” Harry whispered. “The children? You wouldn’t just throw them all into an orphanage… Right?”

“Believe it or not, Harry. I have a long list of wizards who have all offered their own homes. Children thrive best with stability, where they can get the proper amount of attention to grow. A wizard orphanage was never on the table, and it never will be.” Harry had to admit to himself that the thought comforted him, as there were rarely happy stories about orphanages. His aunt and uncle often threatened to leave him at one should he misbehave, and that always terrified him. Voldemort waved his hand casually, and Harry could tell he had cast a tempus. “I’m taking my leave, you will eat breakfast or I’ll lock you into your room again,” was stated before the man apparated.

Harry stood only for a couple more seconds before taking a seat in the chair he had been using as a shield. He badly wanted to have hope that things weren’t as Voldemort said, but he knew in his heart that the world wasn’t ready. If the wizarding community couldn’t safely choose to come out of hiding, then it happening accidentally would be disastrous. Voldemort was right, and Harry hated him for it. Harry hated himself for agreeing to any part of it. 

The teen rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palms.

“Harry?” Came a quiet hiss from the entrance of the room. 

“Hello.” He replied, looking over to the dark green body. Nagini slithered in cautiously.

“You are fine yes?” She inquired, coming closer to him. The snake rounded the chair and nudged his leg. He bent down slightly to run his fingers along her head, she took this as an invitation to start climbing up his leg and sit on his lap. He sat still, allowing her to wrap around his shoulder. She was heavier than she looked.

“Depends on if you’re asking about my mental state or physical state.” He murmured, trying to remove his arm from its prison. His right arm was currently trapped between Nagini and his own body.

“Let’s have a shower.” She hissed, and Harry couldn’t help but snort.

“You’re impossible.” He declared, a small smile appearing on his face. As annoying and bossy as she could be, he couldn’t seem to deny her. Especially not when he needed a distraction. “Okay, but I’m showering first. You have to wait until I get out.”

“No.” She hissed back smartly. 

This caused Harry to laugh because he somehow knew she was going to say that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi hiiiiiiii. I love you all, and will never abandon my stories. Sometimes I have bouts where I can't do much, but I promise I'm always thinking about it! <3
> 
> I hope you've all been well, and enjoyed the chapter :D


	14. Think of the Children

Draco Malfoy had been forced out of the Slytherin common rooms with several other students, and they had all been pushed into empty classrooms. The rooms had been changed, and now resembled a smaller, dirtier med bay. Transfigured beds lined the walls, none of the tones matching, and all the sheets and blankets were scratchy. 

It was easy to tell what had been going on just by observing the rest of the faces within the walls. Nott, Crabbe and Goyle, Zabini, and several other faces told the story of the miniature Death Eaters being rounded up. A large majority of the students present were Slytherin, and ones that Draco knew were all suspected of being pro-Dark Lord. Some of the families who had sided with Voldemort during the first war, and now had a stigma attached to their names. Some newer names as well, ones that had been investigated yet never proven. 

Pansy and Chloe Gifflen had been taken to a different room with other girls, Pansy because her family had never officially bowed to the Dark Lord, but were supporters none-the-less. Draco wasn’t as sure about Gifflen, he had heard from the grapevine that she had a second cousin who had been one of Lord Voldemort’s right-hand men when the Death Eaters first arose. He supposed being related to an original member warranted suspicion, even if he knew that Gifflen was quite standoffish, and often distanced herself from talk of blood purity. She hadn’t seemed too interested in anything Death Eater related. 

Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle made sense. Zabini had been stuck with them, as he had been a part of their group for a while, and it only made sense that all of Draco Malfoy's friends would be evil gits. Zabini was an evil git, but other than believing in blood supremacy and being anti-muggle, Blaise did not incline Death Eaters. He quipped about Draco’s father constantly, he had once crudely drawn a tattoo on his arm and wouldn’t shut up about being part of the club. Draco did not doubt that Blaise had no intention of joining a faction. He was all about himself.

All five of the boys had gathered together and spoke in hushed tones. They hadn’t been told what was happening, nor were they allowed to leave the room without an escort. Their wands had been confiscated, and even though Draco complained very loudly, their voices went unheard. Within a day this classroom had become a prison. Multiple days had passed, and the four walls seemed to only grow smaller. 

Draco Malfoy hadn’t had a decent shower, and his hair was completely non-compliant without magic or his hair products. His parents had warned him about situations like this, and they had come up with a plan. They had a location to meet up, a specific time in case they could getaway. His father would apparate them away to a hidden destination where they could properly regroup. The only problem was that Draco could not getaway. The students were watched constantly, always two grown wizards at the doors. Every shift they changed it was a different duo, and it was always a slightly different time. Making any plans difficult and almost impossible to follow through. 

This had to do something with Potter, and Draco would eat his robes if it wasn’t. He just hoped that his mother and father were alright.

\--------------------------

It had taken less than two days to convince The Order to allow Xenophilius to join ranks and begin working as part of the organization. Within thirty-six hours, the man had learned about the deadline on the protective shield. That same night he had been let in on the plan of the mass apparition, a piece of information that shook both wizards to their cores. Iris had known from the start that they would try to take the children away, but hearing that they had forty-eight hours had set her off. She demanded that she would be allowed to see the locked up students, begging Xenophilius to sabotage his security shift that morning so that she could meet with the children. 

They were the most at risk in her mind, as they had already been pinned as criminals. Her daughters at least had each other, so she could trust that they would be taken care of. These students had been isolated and kept in the dark in fear that they had something to do with the takeover. Iris would be damned to send them to their doom somewhere in the world where they wouldn’t stand a chance. 

That morning Iris had followed closely behind Xenophilius and Tonks. She had stayed close enough

to follow them, but far enough away that she wouldn’t be detected. Once the wizards were in place, the woman was immediately stunned. Xenophilius had caught the poor girl before she fell to the floor, and allowed entry to Iris.

The first thing she saw opening the door was how the area had been created into a terrible makeshift cell. Every student in the room had turned their heads, gazing at her unfamiliar face. Each child looked ragged, tired, and on guard. They reminded the mother of war-hardened men ready to hear that they would be deployed once again. She shut the door behind her, making sure it was closed fully, before addressing the students.

“I don’t have long, please listen to me.” She pleaded. “We are doing everything we can to get you out of here,” She promised. Expressions changed, ranging from doubtful to curious. She looked to her right at a group of older boys and made eye contact with Draco Malfoy. The blonde was staring at her with an empty face, his arms crossed while he sat highly on the end of a bed. “Your parents want nothing more than to see you all.” She stated. The young Malfoy’s jaw twitched, and Iris allowed her eyes to wander. “The Dark Lord had risen-” The immediate reaction was whispering, heads turning to other students, and fear.

“I knew it!”

“That’s insane-

“I told you.” 

“Children!” She snapped. The room hushed, and Draco Malfoy stood.

“What is it like? Out there?” The teen questioned, his head motioning towards the closed door. Iris once again addressed the group.

“It isn’t terrible. There isn’t fire crawling on the walls, no blood pools along the streets. He has been fair, and just.” She stated confidently. A flash of doubt crossed Malfoy’s face, so she continued. “My two daughters are here, and I plan on bringing them home. Why would I bring them back to a place if I believed there was no salvation?” A look of realization crossed the blonde's face and he narrowed his eyes slightly.

“You’re Ivy Hitbirk’s mother.” The teen announced, catching the witch off guard. She clenched her jaw and nodded. “She’s a good student,” Draco commented.

“She is.” The mother agreed easily. The young Malfoy nodded once slowly, and Iris felt like her being the mother to a fellow Slytherin had given the much-needed brownie points.

“What can we do? How can we help?” Draco asked, searching her face. She cleared her throat and addressed the room.

“I was brought in with another wizard in hopes to take down the shield, to allow access and evacuation of the students safely.” She admitted. Keeping Xenophilius’s name a secret, in case the students knew who he was and didn’t immediately think it was a terrible idea. The Lovegood’s weren’t known for their amazing reputations. “There is currently no way to communicate to the Dark Lord, no owls, no Floo. Nothing. But we have learned of information that would benefit us all should we be able to get it out.” Draco Malfoy's head snapped up and he looked like he had the brightest idea he had ever had.

“I know how to do it.” His hands clenched tightly at his sides, his grey eyes looking bright enough to be silver.

\-------------------------------

A shiver ran down Harry’s spine and he felt like someone was talking about him. Probably Voldemort and his Death Eater’s all gossiping. He could imagine them all in a plush living room, sitting around, drinking tea. Voldemort on the long couch kicking his legs in delight at Bellatrix’s joke. ‘Did you hear that Harry’s first kiss was with a crying girl? It was probably because it was so terrible!’ Lucius Malfoy braiding his own hair and talking smack about the Weasley's. 'Gingers? Ha! Red hair was so last century. I bet they don’t even have a single peacock in their yard. I have fifty. What losers!’

Harry snorted, causing Nagini to flinch on his lap at the sudden noise. He stroked her scales gently as a silent apology. It was strange but he could tell that they were connected. Sometimes he knew what she was feeling, what she wanted. He knew exactly where she wanted to be pet, or if she was interested in his food. It must have been a soul magic thing, it had to be. This probably should have freaked him out a bit more than it did, but he was content with feeling what she felt, if not for the ability to tell if he’s pissed her off enough to eat him whole.

It was a different connection than the one he had with Voldie. With that connection, he could feel what the man felt, and sometimes see what he saw. They shared dreams, visions. He didn’t feel Voldemort’s hunger, or instinctively know what the other wanted. He often had no idea what the man wanted. Was this because Nagini and himself were pieces of the soul? Or perhaps because they spent so much time together? If the Dark Lord was in a good mood he could perhaps ask him. The only downside was that it might be bad, and then Harry wouldn't be allowed to be with her anymore. Or that it would be something that would turn into a science experiment. Harry didn’t feel much like being a guinea pig at the moment.

No, at the current moment he was quite content with laying in the patch of sun that shone through the window in his room. Nagini had complained about being cold after their shower (‘their’ absolutely meaning that Nagini had no respect for personal space and Harry had to deal with a twelve-foot snake while he was starkers) and Harry suggested the comfy looking carpet. He didn’t have any way to start a fire, for very obvious reasons, so it was either wrapping her up in his comforter, or the sun.

This found both basking quietly, only shifting slightly when the sun moved to stay in the hot spot.

Another positive note was that all his robes had resized to his own size. He was pleasantly surprised to find that not only were they smaller, but that he now had a drawer of socks. Further investigation had revealed comfy-looking black sweatshirts, a handful of plain t-shirts, and a pair of jeans. Harry couldn't believe that Voldemort had given him jeans, of all clothing. Jeans.

He wasn’t going to complain.

“The heat is leaving Harry,” Nagini whined. Sluggishly turning her head and bumping his cheek. Opening his eyes and gazing over he could see that the angle of the sun was making it hard to stay in the rays. In only two feet they would be at the wall, making their spot useless.

“We could go find a better spot,” he offered. It would do him good to get up and stretch a bit anyway. “Come on.” He breathed out, lightly patting her tail. She visibly sank into the floor, hissing unhappily.

“No moving, only heat.” She demanded. Harry sat up fully and shook his head.

“Who would've thought such a strong, fast, gorgeous snake would be so lazy.” He pondered aloud. 

“Nagini is not lazy.” She grumbled, finally stirring by turning her head and slowly sliding her way towards him. She tried to climb onto his outstretched legs, but he pushed her away.

“Laps aren’t for lazy snakes.” He laughed, and the snake hissed once again. Her tongue darted out, tagging Harry’s wrist.

“Nagini is fast. Nagini is best.” 

“Nagini is also very humble. Not at all vain or arrogant.” He snickered, once again pushing her away from her not so sly attempt to climb onto him.

“Yesssssss. Nagini is best.” Harry could only laugh in response. He brushed her off one last time and stood with his arms raised high. He reached upwards and could feel the muscles in his back adjusting to the new position. He turned his body side to side, making his back crack a bit. Nagini hissed the word ‘broken’ under her breath, but Harry ignored her. Instead, he adjusted the jeans on his body and smoothed out the now very wrinkled t-shirt.

“Let’s go find a better spot, yeah?” He asked, glancing down at the snake. Nagini responded by inching her body forward and bumping into his barefoot. He had decided to not put on socks because he felt pretty comfortable without them while it was warmer. There wasn’t anyone around to be self-conscious about his feet anyway. 

“Nagini knows a spot…” She hissed and began forward without Harry. 

“Why didn’t you say earlier?” Harry questioned, starting to follow her out of the room.

“You didn’t ask, silly Harry.”

“Ah, of course. That makes total sense. No point in bringing up relevant information, even if it would be super helpful, until someone asks for the specifics, right?”

“Nagini will bite you.” Came the short reply, and Harry could tell she didn’t mean it. The rest of the way was silent as Nagini led him to the library at the end of the hall. The door was open, and Harry followed inside. He had completely forgotten that this room had a longer window. Meaning more sunspace on the floor.

“You are an absolute genius.” The teen nodded, giving a small golf-clap in congratulations.

“Yesssss.” The snake agreed while taking her place in the bigger spot of the sun. Harry didn’t feel like laying down right away, so he decided to browse a little instead. Heeding Nagini’s warning about the biting books, he tried to pick books that looked innocent. On one of the shelves, he found an older edition of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, the spine was practically bent in half, showing great love. He pulled it from the shelf and opened it up. He flipped through and noticed that this book had notes and comments written in the Dark Lords scrawl. With his interest peaked, Harry turned deliberately to the page with the Basilisk on it. To his great disappointment, the page was almost empty, other than a small note at the bottom that Harry was unable to read, as it was all squiggly lines instead of words.

He felt very tempted to go through the book to read what Tom Riddle thought about the multitude of creatures. Harry placed the old book underneath his arm and continued browsing. More titles that seemed to be related to death, or specific branches of magic, seemed to line the shelves. Most older tomes. At the top of one of the shelves, there was a small blue book that stuck out among the rest. It was quite tiny, and the shiny gold letters caught in the light. 

Harry reached up and took the book from its place. Turning it over he remembered hearing about this book. The Tales of Beedle the Bard. It was like a nursery rhymes book for wizards. Stories for kids. Harry hadn’t gotten to read much, as the Dursley's forbid him from borrowing books unless it was required for class. He moved the book back and forth and watched the gold lettering sparkle. He was excited to read it.

Feeling all giddy now, Harry decided to do something he was never able to do before. Building a blanket fort and reading all night. The newfound excitement threatened to bubble out of him, so the teen placed both chosen books onto the closest table and ran back to his room. 

He grabbed his comforter, and the two pillows, racing back down the hall to drop them off. He decided to time himself while he did it, and try to beat his own record. The second time Harry grabbed the sheet from his bed, stripping the mattress bare and running like a madman down the hall without any grace. He was faster the second time by 3 seconds. 

Taking a look around the room, Harry had to choose the best place to put his fort. He held his hands up, looking through his fingers like one might do when looking at a landscape for painting. He scanned the room, closing one eye for better focus. The middle of the room would leave him with a very short tent, only offering the chairs, couch, and tables to be used as support. If he used a bookshelf, he could drag over some of the furniture and make a slanted roof. The books would be heavy enough to hold the sheet in place. 

Harry dropped his hands and nodded to himself happily.

“This is going to be awesome.”

\-----------------------------

The meetings had been fruitful that morning. They had discussed further into the logistics of the new Muggle and Muggle Born Registration, the paperwork for adoptions and relocation were finalized. Not only had that been a weight off the Dark Lord’s shoulders, but it gave him peace of mind that they were closer to the goal.

The reintegration for werewolves had been a slower start, but housing plans had been made. There were many empty spots in larger houses available. Many wizard bloodlines ended, leaving numerous manors open for grabs. A simple deal with the Goblins and they became the property of the ministry. They had chosen an area that had ample room, and the renovations would be underway soon. It would be somewhat of a halfway house until the individuals could find work and their own homes.

Even with all the good happening now, Voldemort couldn’t erase the feeling of intense rage that coiled in his belly. It threatened to spring, and his fingers were itching to cast. His reasoning behind this feeling was unequivocally Harry Potter. 

The boy hadn’t done anything himself, however. It was his relatives.

The night he was able to enter Harry’s dream had been surprising, yet not unwelcome. The closer in proximity, the stronger the bond. He could feel it growing, with the way it became so easy to control the bond, and how Voldemort seemed to be able to feel echoes of Harry’s emotions even when he was sure the bond was closed completely. It was uncharted territory, yet he was sure that it was from spending time closer together. Parts of the soul constantly wanted to become whole again, as it was most unnatural for them not to be.

He had just gotten to sleep himself, it had been quite late, or early depending on how one would see it. The Dark Lord needed less sleep than most, so he would often lay down with intentions to sleep around two or three in the morning. He would get three to four hours of sleep before the rising sun woke him. This night had been different. 

He had laid in bed and felt a tugging sensation, it was foreign. It felt like a spiritual pull, beckoning him in. He chose not to ignore it, and this was how he ended up in Harry's dream. Harry had called him there. The room was small and dark. It was dirty, and Harry sat atop his small bed. The teen had taken on his younger self, and his hair was wilder than the Dark Lord had ever seen it. Within the past week, he had noticed how his hair had practically expanded, the curls seeming to break free of gold and now sticking out in every way without regard. Harry had sat there with such a look on his face, it wasn’t something he thought he’d seen on such a young face.

At first, Voldemort was sure that the small room was Harry’s way of representing his current predicament of being trapped. As one's brain liked to express what one was feeling with literal visuals. Yet he had an inkling that this really wasn’t the case. His theory of this being an overall representation was squashed quickly when he realized that this place was familiar to the teen. Taking in the scene again, Voldemort could pick out toys, and crude drawings on the wall. 

The Dark Lord stepped closer to the far wall, glancing at the art on the wall for a closer inspection. They consisted of trees, grass, the sun in the corner of the page. One prevailing theme, however, was that in every picture there was a lone stick figure. It was easy to deduce that it was Harry, as children drew themselves most often. Themselves and family or pets. In each picture the figure was standing in the same position, only the scenery changing. The stick figure never had a face or features to indicate a sense of self. Most children were able to recognize that there was something unique about them, and could use specific details to express who the picture was of. Yet Harry’s self-portraits had nothing. They were eerily empty as if he hadn’t a sense of self at all.

Looking back over to Harry, he could see now that the position he had taken up was less defensive and more self-soothing. Taking one look at Harry’s wrists he could see that this version of Harry was much too small.

He had seen people that skinny only in situations where food was scarce or not available at all. Harry had been small for his age, even when he was eleven. Yet this wasn’t small, this was emaciated. There was a major difference in children who just happened to be skinny and small, to those that hadn’t a chance to grow in the first place. He was younger than his first trip to Hogwarts, the Dark Lord could tell, yet he could guess that the weight only changed because the boy grew upwards. 

Before he could question Harry, the dream changed. The feeling of fear that had been at the back of Harry’s psyche, of which Voldemort believed it to be because of him, had been turned up to the max and he watched as Harry forgot himself to this dream. The dream that quickly turned into a nightmare. 

The Dark Lord could do nothing but watch as the child increasingly became horrified, the sounds of someone coming down the stairs sending him in a full-blown panic. He had no control here. Neither of them did. It felt like watching a memory through a Pensieve, which only made it worse because he was beginning to believe this was a memory now. Something Harry had lived through multiple times.

Dreams always seemed to have a blurry edge to them, and details often changed. Yet this was completely stagnant, unbearably so.

Harry’s fear leaked into the dream itself, and Voldemort could almost taste it. The air felt heavy, and it tried its best to enter Voldemort, but he pushed it away with a flick of his hand. He was not enjoying this. This type of distress coming from a small child was uncomfortable, and he wished dearly that he could just leave. Harry cowered away from where he stood because even with his inability to see, he knew where the threat would be. Looking to his right, Voldemort could see now that the door to the room was close to him. The jangle of keys was the last straw for Harry, and he almost didn’t catch the boy slamming himself into the wall before his own eyes opened. Voldemort's heart was racing, and he was sure that he was sweating. Whether this was because of the link, or his own reaction was unknown. 

The emotions echoing over, however, let him know that Harry was still in distress. It was an intolerable feeling that made its home in his chest, making it feel as if it were his own. He had apparated to the boys' room, intending to cease this horrible barrage of emotions. He hadn’t expected to find Harry suffocating on the floor.

Adjusting himself in his chair, the Dark Lord squirmed. He tried to find a more comfortable position as the memories sent a strange stab to his heart. The experience had left a disgusting taste in his mouth, and a passionate need for murder.

In attempts to re-brand himself, the Dark Lord had been trying to refrain from his bloodthirsty tendencies. No one wanted a leader who killed for the sake of killing. There were reasons things needed to be done, not just because he felt like it. Yet the torture and imminent death of Harry’s blood relatives weighed heavily on his mind.

Finding the muggles would be easy, Voldemort highly doubted that there would be any sort of protection surrounding them, as Dumbledore was using all his power to keep Hogwarts standing. There was virtually nothing between him and this delicious revenge. People mistreating children was horrible, muggles mistreating magical children were worse. He would not stand for it, and the punishment would be swift. 

“Bellatrix.” He bellowed, startling the occupants of the room. They had been discussing trade relations with Europe, yet Voldemort was not in the mood. The room immediately quieted, some looked frightened, others looking over to Bellatrix wondering what was about to happen. Bellatrix, as always, was ready for anything. He could torture her right now and she’d apologize and offer her life, regardless of whether she did anything at all. “Come here.” He demanded, rubbing his chin and leaning further back into his chair.

As the witch got closer, he motioned with his hand at the others to continue. This was a private conversation.

“My Lord.” She spoke quietly, going to bow low.

“There is no need for that, Bella.” He dismissed, using her nickname to ease any feelings of wrongdoing. The witch immediately stood back up and came closer as she was beckoned. “I have a special mission for you…” He spoke quietly, watching her eyes light up at the thought of being chosen. 

“Anything for you, My Lord.”

“I think you’ll quite enjoy this one,” he murmured in a hushed tone. “I need you to find out the name and location of the family Harry Potter stayed with.” Bellatrix’s mouth twitched upwards, and he could tell she knew where this was going. “They are muggles and have committed heinous acts against wizardkind. They will need to be punished.” The witch in front of him practically vibrated in anticipation. “I want you to locate them, and bring them all to Malfoy Manor.” 

“Only the best for the esteemed guests.” Bellatrix cackled, her hands wound so tightly into her dress that Voldemort could tell she was yearning for nothing more than to be dismissed so she could get her hands on them.

“I’m not aware of how many there will be, but I want them all.” 

“Of course-” She started nodding.

“Separate cells. And Bella,” He paused, giving her a hard look. “You will not touch them until they have been seen by me. I will decide their punishment, and you will have the delight of… playing afterward. Do you understand?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Then you are dismissed.” He said easily, waving her away. The Dark Lord couldn’t remember seeing the woman run so fast. The crowd parted for her, and she ran without regard. Her hair reminded him of a bit of Harry’s, yet he was much cleaner. Softer as well.

Thinking of the brat, he focused on the link and allowed it to open. The other end was quiet, but a comforting quiet. Content almost. Checking the time, the Dark Lord saw that it was a couple of hours after supper, yet it was much too early for the boy to be asleep. Not that Voldemort could judge him on terrible sleeping patterns. Waving away his tempus, the Dark Lord stood from his seat. A hush fell over the room once again.

“We will convene tomorrow.” Was all they needed. Many of his Death Eater’s had families whom they wanted to see, and he would not keep them any longer. He was the last to leave the room and apparated to his own home. Nagini wasn’t in his room when he arrived, meaning she was with Harry. It was odd to find them separated these days.

He left his own room and walked to Harry’s room. The door was open, and to his surprise, there was a serious lack of Horcruxes, and also bedding. He felt his eyes narrow slightly because of course, Harry would have gotten up to something. Luckily there were only so many rooms for Harry to be in. He walked down the hall silently, his bare feet carrying him quickly. The guest rooms had been closed off as he had no intention of revealing this house to anyone else. The tea room was empty, and the Library was quiet as well.

Passing by the door, he peered in. To his confusion, he found Harry’s bedding. 

Walking into the room, Voldemort walked to the left, intent on investigating the strange tented sheet against the bookcase. The two armchairs had been moved from the center of the room, and each had a stack of books on the seat, weighing down the sides of the sheet. Underneath the white fabric lay a bundle. Harry’s foot peaked from under his blanket, and the top of his head was visible against the white pillow. The blanket was pulled up, obscuring his face. Beside the pillow lay a small stack of books, The Tale of Beedle the Bard was upside down and open on the top. 

Crouching down, Voldemort took the small book in hand and flipped it around. The book was left on the last page of Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump. Voldemort remembered every story from this book and knew the next was The Tale of the Three Brothers. It was objectively the best of all the stories, in the Dark Lord’s opinion. He closed the book and placed it back on top of the pile. A quiet hiss came from somewhere under the comforter, and Nagini’s head came into view. 

“Master!” She hissed excitedly, shimmying her way from the mess.

“Hello, my darling.” He replied fondly, reaching out and holding part of the blanket up to help her out. He glanced under the blanket briefly and realized that the two had been sleeping directly on the floor. Harry’s exposed arm lay limp, and his shirt had ridden up near his side, putting his hip bone on display. It couldn’t have been the most comfortable.

“The floor is cold. I want a shower.” She demanded, rubbing up against the Dark Lords leg. His brow furrowed.

“A shower?”

“Yesssssssss.” She hissed, yet did not elaborate.

“I think not.” He denied, shaking his head. “Perhaps Harry will… indulge you tomorrow. It is time to rest.” The snake replied by hissing unhappily, if she could pout, she would be doing so. “How long have you two been here?”

“After the second food, we laid in the heat.” She stated. “Silly boy dressed the books and read until the room went dark. He read to me, but Nagini doesn’t understand the stories.” Voldemort nodded, the stories would be quite confusing to a snake. Some of them didn’t make sense to humans.

“I will place a heating charm on Harry’s bed. Go wait for me, precious.” He hissed quietly. Nagini obeyed him immediately, slithering past him and to the door. The Dark Lord turned back to the boy and took out his wand. He spelled the blanket, and it began to hover, moving away from the body. Harry shifted in his sleep, reaching out to grab hold of something to cover himself. The Dark Lord ignored him and waved his wand. The sheet above them released itself and with another wave, both it and the blanket flew back to Harry’s room. 

A hand clutched at his robe and looking down revealed that Harry had grabbed onto him. The Dark Lord tilted his head, he was going to levitate Harry as well, but it may just be easier to carry him. Justifying it in his head, the Dark Lord let his wand slip into his sleeve, and he leaned down. He placed one arm under the Gryffindors legs, just at the knee. The other arm snaked beneath his neck, Harry had grabbed onto the front of his robe, making it harder to maneuver his arm from its awkward position. Yet Harry seemed content in just cozying up to Voldemort, regardless of his odd arm placement. 

Standing up, the Dark Lord began to walk back towards the teen's room. The sheets and blanket should have placed themselves back into place. Making it easier for him to put the boy back in. Harry was light, enough that it was no burden to him for carrying. The only issue was that the boys' jeans were incredibly uncomfortable against his skin. He would never understand why anyone would wear such things, let alone sleep in them.

Entering the threshold to the room, Voldemort rounded the bed so that he could put the boy down with his head at the correct side. Both pillows had been left in the library, so Voldemort gently placed Harry back into his bed, and tried to move away so that he could accio them. Harry however had yet to let go of his robes and clung to them with an iron grip. Voldemort tried to pry the fingers open, but the hand didn’t budge. Harry murmured in his sleep and tried to grab his second hand as well. 

“Must you be annoying even when you sleep?” He asked exasperatedly. He grabbed hold of the free wrist, and firmly set the hand to the boy's side. He clutched the blanket and used it to tuck the teen in. Hoping that it would stop his squirming. With his one arm trapped, Harry shifted towards Voldemort, and the man tried to release his hand once again. Nagini had decided it was time to climb onto the bed, and she nosed her way under the blanket. Voldemort watched the blanket as her body morphed the fabric to her form, and she rested part of her body against Harry. 

The reaction was instantaneous, and Harry let go of his robe in favor of turning over to hug Nagini through the blanket. Voldemort took this reprieve to stand up straight and back away. In case Harry changed his mind and latched onto him like a leach again.

The Dark Lord watched the scene for a long minute. It was… wholesome. Allowing his wand to drop from his sleeve, the Dark Lord waved a simple incantation to warm up the blankets. Another wave and the two discarded pillows came flying into the room. Both were placed high against the headboard, as he didn’t wish to gamble on lifting Harry’s head and waking him. Glancing at the bed one last time, Voldemort felt his mouth twitch a bit at the sight. Nagini hissed in content under the blankets, her nose only just visible. Harry had moved closer to the snake, his face pressed up against her through the blanket.

The Dark Lord walked to his own room, feeling decidedly better than earlier. He could only hope that tonight wouldn't be plagued with nightmares as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know where to stop the chapterrrrrrrrrrrr. So it's another long one :O
> 
> Comments and kudos are highly appreciated and give me motivationnnnn <3


	15. Tom Riddle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I just reuploaded this chapter, I edited it because I was a little unhappy with it. But I like it much better now!)
> 
> A bit of a shorter chapter, but I think you'll like it.  
> No beta, so expect some mistakes and spelling errors because I type like I'm hacking the mainframe and can't afford to go back.

Harry was floating once again. He felt as if he was on a bed of clouds, gliding along, high above everyone. This time the sensation was pleasant, to his great relief.   
  
As calming as it was, something felt off. He could feel something in the back of his mind, just sitting there and taking up space. It was akin to when there was a small rock in your shoe. The longer he kept his eyes closed and floated, the larger the feeling became, growing behind his forehead.   
  
It was all very ‘The Princess and the Pea’ like.  
  
Groaning loudly, Harry gave up on basking in the strange euphoria. He opened his eyes, blinking away the veil. The world surrounding him was filled with grey, Harry would have called it smoke had it not moved around in the strange magical way it did. He held his arms out and tried to manipulate the vapor by swiping his hands through it. To his disappointment, the smoke didn’t react to his physical form. It simply went through him and carried on its way.  
  
Harry sat up off the floor, continuing to watch it swirl and dance about. He could see a pattern if he focused hard enough. The grey smog twirled and drifted, dipping low only to head counterclockwise. Harry decided to follow it.  
  
He couldn’t see the floor, but he could feel it on his bare feet after standing. It wasn’t cold, even with his socks missing.   
  
He began to walk, following a specific cloud as it ventured left and dipped. He continued, his eyes glued to the cloud. He was looking down at his toes and a shiny glimmer caught his eye, it had been somewhere to the right of him. Turning from his spot, the Gryffindor padded across the floor towards the spot he had seen. As he closed in on it, the smoke thinned, and Harry was met with an impossibly tall barrier. A golden wall.  
  
It was shiny enough that it practically glowed now that Harry could see it properly. There were ridges and bumps along its surface, taking on the shape of upside-down teeth layered. Or perhaps a pinecone. He ran his fingers over them, feeling every small bump. Higher up on the wall the surface smoothed out, only to once again break into a sequence of long peaked lines. Harry tried to back up so he could see the pattern, but the further he got from the wall, the thicker the smoke was. It obstructed his view.  
  
The teen scowled while he looked around once again. Glancing from his right to his left, he could see that the wall was practically mirrored both ways. He decided to head to the left while keeping his hand on the golden wall. He padded further and further, the scene not changing no matter how far he seemed to walk. Someone could have told him he was simply walking in place and he might have believed them had he not walked into an object.  
  
Harry yelped as he fell forward and over the back of a lounge chair. His feet came right out from under him, and he tumbled. He landed halfway onto the seat, and for a brief moment, he thought he was alright.   
  
That was until he realized he was still going and rolled right off the edge of it.  
  
He hit the ground and landed firmly on his tailbone. It hadn’t hurt, but the impact caused him to breathe out an audible ‘oof’.   
  
The teen grimaced and went to rub his backside on instinct. While maneuvering his arm he glanced to the floor and realized that it was no longer just a void. Instead, the ground was now covered in a posh, cream-colored tile. Intrigued, Harry now took in his surroundings. He seemed to be in the middle of a seating area, the area including a tall-backed sofa, a table for tea, and of course the chaise he had just toppled over.  
  
In the corner of his eye, Harry thought he saw movement within the still surrounding fog. A movement that felt much different from the smoke's airy nature. Had this not been a dream, Harry most likely would have subjected himself to whiplash with how fast he had turned his head.   
  
In the smoke was a dark shadow, the outline clearly that of a person. He watched it curiously and had a feeling that it too was observing him.  
  
Before he could call out to the figure, it began to move. A spike of fear shot through Harry, but it was squashed when he reminded himself that it was just a dream. And dreams can’t hurt you, not physically at least. So he sat on the floor bravely.  
  
Out of the smoke, came a familiar face. One that made Harry’s eyes widen.  
  
Tom Riddle, in all his tall glory, stalked from the mist. He looked so similar to the Tom he’d met in the Chamber of Secrets, but he was undoubtedly older. None of the youthful glow was left, and in its wake was an air of such confidence, that Harry felt threatened. The man stopped walking towards him once he was out of the smoke. He held his hands behind his back and slightly tilted his head.  
  
“You are aware that the purpose of chairs are meant for sitting, correct?” Came a familiar tone. Harry’s mouth fell open. Tom’s voice had lost its pubescent edge altogether, and he sounded like an aristocratic prince. The entirety of Tom Riddle screamed power.   
  
All Harry could do was think that this was probably why it had been so easy for the man to gather followers. He was breathtaking.   
  
Too bad he was a megalomaniac with a shite attitude and an even worse personality.  
  
Harry closed his mouth, a tad embarrassed at his reaction. To counter the weird feeling, Harry tried to go casual. He sat up straight and leaned on the seat on the chaise with his elbow as if this were all normal.  
  
“Really? I completely and honestly thought they were meant for eating.” He replied, allowing the sarcasm to drip from his words. This shouldn’t be any different from conversing with Voldemort.   
  
Riddle’s lip twitched and Harry couldn’t tell if the man wanted to smile or bite his head off. To his surprise, the stony face morphed into the cutest fucking smile he had ever seen. Dimples included.  
  
Oh Merlin, the dimples.  
  
“I must apologize,” Tom started, then walked forward, with what seemed to be the intent on helping Harry up, or perhaps shake his hand at the least. “I should introduce myself-” Before he could do so, Harry raised his hand and waved it around flippantly.  
  
“Yeah, Yeah. I know who you are Tom.” He revealed. Tom’s face twitched, and Harry could have laughed. Deciding he had enough of the floor, Harry used his leverage on the chair to help pull himself up. Once standing he wiped his jeans off as if they had collected dirt, a habit. He looked back up only to find that Tom Riddle’s face had changed to one of suspicion.   
  
“You know my name,” The taller man tilted his head and uncrossed his arms in a way that made Harry feel extremely uncomfortable. “Yet I have no idea as to who you are. We have never met, I‘m sure of it.” Despite his discomfort, Harry could only snort loudly, a reaction that displeased Tom visibly.  
  
“We have.” He offered before scratching his head awkwardly, Tom was eying him and he was finding it increasingly creepy. “My names Harry and I- well actually I practically live with you now.” This sparked some interest in the other. Harry waved his hand again, trying to dismiss the reaction. “It's all super complicated, and I’d rather not have to explain it all in a dream.” Tom’s demeanor changed again at his words. His body language went from rigid to predatory. His expression morphed, this time his smile was less charming, and more bordering on creepily gleeful.  
  
“Is that what this is?” The man asked softly, the terrifying smile persisting. “A dream?” He continued his head tilting. Harry could have sworn the man's brown eyes flashed red. It made Harry hesitate, which in turn only made the creepy smile grow.  
  
“...Yes...” The moment the word left his mouth, Harry knew the answer was wrong.  
  
“Oh, Harry.” The sound of his name on Tom Riddle's lips sent a shiver down his spine. “This isn’t a dream. Not entirely, no.” Tom offered, his deep brown eyes looking into Harry’s. He was searching for something. The man's gaze then traveled up to his forehead, where his scar lay hidden beneath his overgrown fringe. Curtained by his hair, and beneath his skin, something behind his forehead twinged.   
  
“Merlin’s pants.” He gasped out, the realization hitting him harder than a bludger. “You’re a bloody Horcrux!” He didn’t even need the other to confirm it, it just made sense.   
  
How could he have not seen it?  
  
“The fact that you even have knowledge of that word,” Tom stepped closer, Harry mirrored him by stepping back. “And seeing as we have a connection,” Harry sputtered, a blush rising over his neck at the choice of words.   
  
“It would seem that you Harry, are also a Horcrux.” The young Dark Lord gave Harry a very obvious once-over, which only succeeded in forcing Harry’s blush to his face. “That makes you special.” The man hissed out.  
  
The parseltongue did nothing to calm the teen, and Harry swallowed hard. He needed to hightail it out of there. He needed something to help him out of this situation, and fast. Harry only knew one way. It was his superpower, his golden egg, the only thing he could do to maybe piss this Tom off enough that he’d want him to leave. He needed his sass.  
  
“Yeah, whatever floats your boat, Riddle.” He replied offhandedly, giving the man a look of mild disgust.   
  
“Call me Tom.” The man replied, a glint in his eye. Possessive. Harry raised his eyebrows and shook his head.  
  
“I'd rather punch myself repeatedly in the face, thanks.” He stated, crossing his arms defensively. Tom narrowed his eyes, giving Harry what seemed to be a look of puzzlement. He advanced again, Harry mirrored him, only to realize that the backs of his knees were at the edge of the seat now.  
  
“I’ve never had another Horcrux visit me before...” The Dark Lord murmured to himself.  
  
“Maybe they just don’t like you-” He was being completely ignored now. The gaze on Tom’s face changed again, this time he looked at Harry like a child might do to a shiny toy in the box. Once again Harry was at the end of Tom’s roaming eyes.  
  
“You must be different somehow.”  
  
“They probably throw parties every Friday, and don’t invite you.” The teen taunted uselessly, tightening his crossed arms. Tom’s eyes found Harry’s again.  
  
“How many other Horcruxes are there, Harry?” The Horcrux questioned rubbing his chin in thought. “There was a plan, but...” Harry tried to look disinterested, bringing his hand up to inspect his nails. He wanted nothing better than to know what the plan was. He loved knowing. Unfortunately for him, every part of Voldemort was paranoid. A knowing smile made its way onto Tom’s face.  
  
“Just how much do you know, Harry?” Was asked sweetly, and Harry put on his snake face. If he wanted to get any information, he was going to have to bluff his way through this.  
  
“More than you.” He goaded. It was technically true. Harry knew a great deal more than he did, Tom had been put away for so long.  
  
“Because you aren’t trapped, are you?” Tom questioned, making Harry freeze. Because even though he was a prisoner, as a Horcrux he wasn’t forced into a diary or a cup. “Ah. I think I see what makes you special, Harry.” The Horcrux whispered as he moved again, stalking towards Harry in the same way he had in the Atrium. The teen tried to back away, but his body refused to respond. His sudden fear kept him frozen in place as Tom advanced.  
  
Amusement glinted in Tom Riddle's eyes, along with a look he couldn't exactly pin down. It might have been victory or greed, and if Harry wasn’t lying to himself, he would have called it hunger.   
  
The Horcrux in front of him came close enough that Harry could see the specks of red clearly now. Tom reached out and instead of grabbing Harry, like he thought he would do, he pushed him instead. The backs of Harry’s knees hit the chaise and he was forced back into the chair. This allowed Tom to trap him into place by placing his two arms on either side of him. The taller man leaned forward, clearly not one to care about other people's personal space.  
  
He was breathing Harry’s air.  
  
“You see, Harry. I am the piece of soul that was left behind, placed into its cage. Contained and safe. You, on the other hand, are the vessel.” The brown eyes that were much too close to his own looked back up to his forehead. “The piece of soul is inside of you. It’s the only explanation as to why you can visit this place.” One of Tom’s hands left his side, only to reach up to move Harry’s hair away. “I hadn’t even thought that living vessels would have been possible.” The young Dark Lord whispered, it was so quiet that had Harry not been three inches away from the man's mouth, he may have missed it. “I wonder…”   
  
Before Harry could even question what was happening, lips pressed themselves to his exposed forehead. He lost himself.   
  
The pleasant feeling of floating returned tenfold, instead of a numb nothingness however, there was a warmth that lit his bones on fire. It was as if Harry had been in an ice bath his whole life and not even realized it until now. He couldn't believe he had lived his life without this. How had he survived almost seventeen years with that emptiness?  
  
It was all too much, but at the same time, it was not enough.   
  
His body moved on its own accord, even though it felt as if he was being filled with boiling cement. His arms involuntarily reached out to wrap around Tom Riddle, to grab whatever he could and pull until there wasn’t any space left between the two of them. He wanted to meld into the body that was up against his. He wanted all the friction, he had to get closer. He needed to-  
  
Tom’s body pulled away from him, pushing against his chest until he was flush against the chair. The moment had ended much too soon, and the delicious fire exited his body at such a pace that he swore it had been extinguished with ice water. All he could do was whine quietly as the cold seeped into his bones, leaving him feeling completely hollowed out. He was a shell.   
  
Part of Harry registered Tom moving away, far enough that they weren’t sharing a breath any longer. It felt like torture.  
  
“As pleasant as that was,” Tom Riddle breathed out heavily. “It wasn’t what I was hoping for.” The man sounded as wrecked as Harry felt. He was sure he would be feeling pride for being the one to cause Tom Riddle to come undone had he not been overrun with the intense feelings of wanting-  
  
“More.” Harry rasped aloud, trying with all his might to pull Tom closer to him with hands that were now strongly gripping his sleeves. Tom didn’t budge, which made Harry whine again. He got no response and just when Harry was about to give up and start pushing instead, the body against his leaned forward once again.   
  
This time a hand snaked up to the back of his head and gripped his hair just tight enough that it wouldn’t hurt. His head was pulled back roughly and he was face-to-face with a red-eyed Horcrux. Lips descended onto his.  
  
Harry Potter thought he’d be ready this time. He thought wrong.   
  
He had heard somewhere that the eyes were the windows to the soul, and if that were true, then the mouth was the door.   
  
The fire was back, and Harry couldn’t remember ever feeling so terribly consumed. Tom was greedy, and he was taking all of him. Harry couldn’t find the will to mind it.   
  
His body was on fire, or maybe he was the fire now? It was hard to tell.   
  
Harry began to lose himself again, and it was getting hard to distinguish what was his skin, and what wasn’t. Did he even have bones anymore? He couldn’t sense his limbs, there was no way his body could survive this. With all this heat Harry could no longer sense the world around him, it was all flames licking at his insides.  
  
That was until a hand crept its way from his hair, and rounded his neck down to his chest.  
  
It dipped low and found its way underneath his shirt, fingers splayed themselves just under his belly button. A different kind of heat began to pool.   
  
A low moan startled him because it was his. The hand was only encouraged by his outburst, and it was quickly joined by another. Both now moving his shirt out of the way, and gripping onto the top of his jeans. They seemed to be in a hurry and were too impatient to unbutton them correctly. So instead they pulled separate ways and the button on his jeans flew right off.  
  
Harry tried to use his leg to hook around Tom’s waist. He needed the friction, he needed more. As if he could read his mind, Tom dipped his band beneath the open pants. Harry hissed as fingertips breached the waistband of his boxers.  
  
“Yessss-”  
  
Only to feel the rushing sensation of cold completely overtake him.  
  
“Wake up!” Nagini hissed directly into Harry’s ear. The teen bolted from his sleeping position and gulped in large breaths as his body started to shiver intensely.  
  
“Why the fuck is it so cold!?” He screeched once he could use his voice. He reached for whatever part of the blanket he could find to pull towards himself, and realized he was completely hard. He stared down at his jeans and the missing button. Tom Riddle’s dumb dimples and a charming smile flashed in his mind and he felt his whole body flush.   
  
He almost shagged young Voldemort. Well… he’d almost let the man shag him.  
  
Harry covered his face with his hands and dug the palms into his eye sockets.  
  
“What the fuck. What the fuck.”  
  
“Nagini was frightened.” Came a quiet hiss to his left, and Harry uncovered one of his eyes to look over to his scaled companion. He thanked his lucky stars that she had no idea.   
  
“Why?” He hissed back, perplexed. One should think Harry would be the frightened one. Instead, he felt sort of… disappointed? No, no way. He didn’t want to shag Riddle.  
  
“You were in distress, Nagini was afraid you got hurt again.” Harry felt like laughing or maybe crying. He must have been making noises in his sleep.   
  
Harry groaned, pulling the blanket over himself, and hiding his face. He hadn’t been in distress, he was enjoying himself. He had been enjoying Riddle. Who was he kidding? He did want to shag Tom Riddle. Harry groaned again and dug his palms back into his eyes.  
  
Breakfast was going to be absolute hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, I'm sorry for leaving everyone. I love you all. I will never abandon my art. I had some mental breakdowns and my keyboard was assassinated by a hot cup of tea. But I'm back on my bullshit, let's do this.
> 
> Nagini is such a cock block D:<
> 
> I know you all enjoyed it, ya horndogs


	16. Awkward Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The moment Voldemort opened his eyes, he knew it was going to be a difficult morning.

He had only so much time to sleep, and the majority of it early that morning was ruined by Harry Potter. The link was quiet enough for the first half of his slumber, and it opened so suddenly that it actually woke the Dark lord. Fear was something he could easily associate with, pleasure, however, he had no time for.

Especially not when it was being forced on him through the mind of a teenager.

It was a natural occurrence of course, but that didn’t mean that the Dark Lord had to accept it, nor like it. He had half a mind to storm into Harry’s room and shake him awake. The only reason he didn’t, was that it could break the ease that had finally started to spread. He wasn’t about to risk another hiccup.

Meaning the Dark Lord had to live with the consequences of letting Harry Potter dream out his experience.

The link would not cease, no matter how hard Voldemort had tried, so he did the next best thing he could think of. 

Distracting oneself was a great solution when one could do it correctly. Unfortunately for the wizard, ignoring the link was much more difficult than ignoring one's own feelings. He had tried reading, but couldn’t concentrate on the words, thus he tried writing instead. Imagine his surprise when he felt a caress along his side.

This had caused the Dark Lord to freeze in place. 

He wasn’t paranoid enough to think someone had actually touched him, no. He knew that this was something that had fluttered over the link as well. Actual physical sensations had never been a problem before, not with any other Horcrux, not even Nagini. She and Harry were the most similar, but he had never had to deal with her in this way. Part of him knew logically that most reptiles didn’t dream, the other part of him chalked it up to Harry not being able to follow the rules.

This includes soul magic it would seem.

The implications of this were unfortunate, as exciting as learning new information was, he was not delighted in this particular development. Even so, he sat still, wondering if it would happen again. Unless he decided to wake Harry, which he already decided he would not, this would not end until-

Until Harry was finished.

The Dark Lord closed his eyes and fought the feeling to groan bitterly. He reached up and rubbed at his temples instead, he was vexed. But he accepted his fate and hoped that this would not become a regular occurrence.

Luckily for Voldemort, the situation only lasted for another fifteen minutes or so. He hadn’t had to deal with the touch of phantom hands again, and he did not wish to acknowledge the small part of him that seemed…disappointed. Should he be forced to, the Dark Lord would have chalked it up to science. A lost chance at learning more about the strange new development.

That was all.

Lord Voldemort did not crave physical contact.

* * *

Breakfast was indeed an awkward affair.

Harry ate his eggs quietly, keeping his eyes downcast. Nagini had been in an excellent mood because Harry had stayed up the rest of the morning petting her. She had slithered down the hall and into the room and Harry followed. He had walked to Voldemort’s office, dragging his feet the whole way, in shame. The moment Harry had entered the room, he knew Voldemort knew. At least to some extent. 

Because the man refused to make eye contact with him. Not only did this put Harry in a foul mood, but it also made things extra weird. He didn’t know where they stood. Was the man going to ignore him now? Would he make fun of Harry? Had Voldemort known that Harry dreamt of him, or at least a part of him? 

Harry stabbed the last piece of toast on his plate, leaving holes throughout it. The fork made clicking noises as it hit the plate, and he continued this for another minute before the Dark Lord sighed.

“If you’re going to continue being emotional, go be emotional elsewhere.” Voldemort suddenly spoke, his hand stopped its writing. “I have important work to do and you’re distracting.” The man waved his free hand dismissively. Harry stayed put, not flinching when the plate and fork in his hand vanished.

The teen looked up, but as he thought, Voldemort still wouldn’t look at him. He wasn’t sure why he needed him to look at him, but he felt it in his bones. He needed to be acknowledged. Deciding that he’d do what he did best, Harry started sliding down in his chair. Voldemort hated when he did that, and it would always elicit a response. He sighed as loudly and as dramatically as he could while he slowly descended into a position that made him look like he had deflated.

He watched the Dark Lord through his eyelashes and cheered silently when the man looked up at his form. Harry could tell the man was annoyed because of the slight furrow of his non-brows, and the small twinge that passed through the link.

“I didn’t realize how taxing it would be, keeping a 16-year-old. Especially one who chooses to act like a child.” Voldemort admitted, putting his quill down and lacing his fingers. Harry watched every movement, drinking it in. He didn’t care if he was caught staring.

“Jeez, sorry for making it hard on you, my very thoughtful kidnapper .” Harry retorted sarcastically, relishing in the feeling of normalcy. Everything was fine if they bickered, it meant that nothing changed and he could go back to not thinking about Tom Riddle and his perfect hair-

“Apology not accepted .” The Dark Lord shot back. Harry sat up in his chair and glared at the snake-faced man in front of him. The Dark Lord looked at him with amusement in his eyes. The bastard must have known what Harry was trying to do. 

It seemed he too wanted back the easy lull they had found.

Things were much simpler before where they would bicker, one of them would get upset, and then storm off. Then they'd do it all over again. Sprinkled in between would be some conversations that would actually sustain Harry’s need for socializing for a while, and time wouldn't go so slow. He wouldn’t need to worry about thinking of the Dark Lord and his weird sexy Horcrux that dream-shared with him.

Looking back up to try and find more resemblances, Harry realized he had yet to respond and was staring into space that entire time. Voldemort had tilted his head and was watching him.

Harry tried opening his mouth, but a clever retort wouldn't leave his throat. What had Voldemort said before? He faltered and felt his body flush in embarrassment. Voldemort’s mouth twitched, and it reminded Harry of the moment right before Tom had smiled at him. Was he about to get that same smile? Did Voldemort still have his dimples?

“My, my, Harry. You’ve seemed to have lost your touch.” Voldemort goaded, keeping his face mostly neutral, to Harry's disappointment. The most he got was a toned-down smirk. It was maddening.

“Maybe I have better things to do.” He finally replied, crossing his arms and sitting back into his chair. Even to Harry, it sounded weak. 

Voldemort didn’t miss a beat as he gestured to the door with his hands and long fingers. Ones that felt-

“By all means, Harry.” The Dark Lord said certainly, and Harry couldn't take it. His own brain was actively sabotaging him, and he was sure the room was much too hot.

He took his chance and fled. 

The teen sprung up from his chair and sped walked out of the office, refusing to look in Voldemort’s direction. He practically jogged to his room where he shut the door louder than necessary. Harry sucked in a huge breath of air, trying to steady himself. He leaned against the wood of the door and slid down so he was seated. His legs felt too shaky to continue to stand.

The Boy-Who-Lived wrapped his arms around his knees and hid his face from view. His face felt so warm, and even his ears burned. The link hummed pleasantly, even with Harry's mental turmoil, the Dark Lord enjoying riling the other up as much as he did. This was getting out of hand quickly.

Harry groaned loudly and tried to curl further into himself.

How was he supposed to act like everything was normal if just the sight of the man's hands sent pleasant shivers through his body? Was this what it was to truly have a crush on someone? If so, then he was sure this was karma for judging the girls when they went crazy over Lockhart. That pompous bastard wasn’t even all that handsome compared to the Tom Riddle he’d met. 

Harry groaned again, frustrated. 

He needed to stop thinking about Riddle, and he needed to stop fantasizing about the Dark Lord. 

This was getting ridiculous.

* * *

After breakfast, Voldemort apparated to the ministry. 

The man was conflicted as his mind ran over all the events that transpired that morning. There was no reason for him to feel awkward around the teen, yet he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge the other right away. The Dark Lord did not shy away, yet he had. It hadn’t helped the situation with Harry’s anxiety spilling over the link either.

It was easy to conclude that Harry was aware of the link leaking his personal experience. 

Which meant Harry recognized that Voldemort knew, creating a strange air between the two. Something had undeniably shifted, it had gone back easily for a few transactions, but Harry once again fell victim to his own idiotic emotions. Should the Dark Lord confront Harry about it? Insist that he stop his cumbersome brooding?

The answer was easily a no. The Dark Lord would not stoop as low as giving Harry potter the talk. The teen was old enough, he’d simply needed to grow up and endure it. The link was going to share more than they both bargained for, and it only made sense to accept it. Fighting in this case was completely useless.

A round of loud whispers pulled Voldemort back to the meeting. His red eyes darted towards the door to the room and surprisingly found himself staring at Iris Hitbirk. The woman looked perfectly fine, a bit red in the face as if she had been running.

Voldemort stood from his seat, watching silently as the witch walked quickly towards him.

He hadn’t suspected treachery, nor would she have fled. Iris was much too smart of a woman to flee her post only to run back to him. Something must have gone very wrong, or perhaps... very right.

“My Lord!” She called out, sounding out of breath. She bowed slightly out of respect before staring him in the face. The next five words to come out of her mouth had been just what Voldemort wanted to hear. 

“We have a way in.”

* * *

Harry had stayed in his room for a long while, feeling sorry for himself. It wasn’t until Nagini started hissing at him through the door did he decide to give up on his pity party. Forcing himself to leave his room was also easier because Nagini being here meant Voldemort had left. Harry wouldn't have to worry about running into the man for a while.

It was unfortunate that he didn’t need the Dark Lord to be physically here for his brain to think of him.

“Harry,” Nagini greeted as he swung the door open.

“Nagini,” He responded. At least things between the two of them were normal. Well, as normal as it could be between a giant deadly snake and a young man who could speak to said snake. Harry crouched down so he could pet his companion, running his hands along the middle of her head.

“Let’s nap.” She suggested, causing Harry to snort loudly.

“You always want to nap.” He murmured, grateful for the familiarity.

“I like napping,” She agreed. “And eating. Nagini likes eating, especially rabbits.”

“Yes, yes. I know,” He relented before standing up and stretching his arms. “How about we go to the library? That way you can nap and I can read.”

“We will lay together.” The snake commanded, yet it had much less bite than normal. The snake turned and began down the hall without him. Harry had a fleeting thought that she perhaps was feeling under the weather. While following her he noticed that she was moving slower than normal.

“Are you feeling alright Nagini?” Harry called after her. The snake didn’t stop to wait for him, so he had to walk faster to catch up. He was so caught up in his own bullshit that he hadn’t noticed her lethargy. Had Voldemort noticed?

“Nagini is tired.” She hissed out, turning into the open door to the library. Harry followed, now thoroughly concerned. 

Her skin looked alright, and her eyes had the normal shade they always had. Her appetite was the same as it had been ever since he met her. Could she die of old age? Harry had assumed that Horcruxes would be immortal, but with the Tom Riddle debacle, he realized now that Nagini wasn’t the soul. She was the container, as he was.

Harry didn’t think he could deal with her dying right now.

The snake maneuvered herself to the far right side of the library, there was a sunspot against the wall. She stilled in place, her head facing away from Harry’s direction. The teen decided that he would absolutely sit with her, but first, he needed to grab a book. He was afraid that if he sat without anything to do that his thoughts may wander.

He couldn’t allow that to happen.

Looking around the library, he suddenly realized that everything was back in its place. Every piece of furniture and every book. There wasn’t a single sign that he had built a fort and slept in it. 

“Nagini, how did I get back to my room last night?” He asked scratching the back of his head. The snake grumbled.

“Master moved you.”

“Oh…” Harry looked to where the fort was supposed to be.

“Master carried you like a child, and he made Nagini go by herself.” The snake added, sounding put off. Harry felt his eyes almost bulge out of his face.

“What do you mean he carried me?” She had to have been confused, there was no way, now way, that Voldemort would have actually carried him. Maybe he had used magic, and Nagini didn’t know what else to call it.

“Stupid boy. Master carried you as he carried me.” The visual that popped up was one where Nagini was being held on Voldemort’s shoulders, and he seriously doubted he was thrown over the man's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The confirmation, however, made Harry feel a bit queasy.

“Ah… that was nice of him.”

“Master is most kind.”

“Yeah…” He absently agreed, staring back at the spot he had been laying that night. He could only hope that he hadn’t had his dream until after the man had dropped him in his bed.

Shivering away the embarrassment of an event that might not have happened, Harry walked back over to the bookshelf. The Tales of Beedle the Bard was back to sitting on its shelf, and the teen reached for it. He wasn’t able to read all of it before he started to doze off and he wanted to finish it.

“Hurry, Harry,” Nagini whined, her hiss causing Harry to jump slightly. He held the small blue book and sauntered over to the other side of the room when the snake lay. Harry crouched down and sat up against the bare wall, the sun was beaming down on them, and small dust particles dancing in the rays.

He adjusted his body so Nagini would be flush against his leg, this way he could reach her neck higher up. With his right hand, he pet her gently, and with his left, he opened the book. He turned the pages until he hit the first page of the last story. Within the blank margins, there were numerous handwritten notes, all in that familiar scrawl. 

Harry wondered when these notes were written, perhaps a younger Tom Riddle? He couldn’t visualize an older Voldemort re-reading and making notes about a children's story, leaned over the small blue book, and scribbling furiously.

The more Harry read, however, the more it became clear that they weren’t truly notes about the story, and more so notes about what was introduced. The ideas of death as an entity, it's cloak, wand, and stone more specifically. They were apparently called The Deathly Hallows.

The notes indicated that Voldemort believed these items actually existed. There were locations written out with question marks, and some were crossed out already. Every mention of Death’s cloak was circled numerous times.

Something in the back of Harry’s mind was yelling at him. It sounded something similar to Hermione. 

Was he missing something?

The teen stared at the line where Death handed his own cloak over and focused on the word cloak. Hermione’s voice started chanting ‘It’s right there, just keep looking. It’s right there.’ He couldn't figure it out and was still stuck on the idea that Voldemort had been seemingly obsessed with this story for children.

Harry exhaled loudly and stopped petting Nagini so he could rub his eyes. There was something there, but he hadn’t the brainpower to figure it out. He needed Hermione here with him, Ron as well. Ron would probably laugh at him for being such a try-hard, then try to convince him that his cloak was the one from the story.

Which was completely ridiculous.

…

He fumbled the book and stared at the page in disbelief.

“No fucking way,” Harry whispered, sitting up straight so he could focus better. He had been told that his Invisibility Cloak was in awfully good condition for being a family heirloom, he just assumed he got lucky. 

Was it possible that his cloak was actually one of Death’s gifts?

It made sense as to why Voldemort was so confused about its whereabouts. Of course, he wouldn’t have been able to find it when it had been within the Potter family for generations. Harry wasn’t sure what this meant for him, but he was sure that Voldemort acquiring all three items probably wasn’t great. 

On the last page, Tom had written in large letters, The Master of Death, and Harry snorted through his nose at the title. It was so pretentious, and of course, Voldemort would want the title for himself. 

Other than the name, nothing else was explained in the notes, nor the story. The end is simply the third brother walking with Death as old friends. This gave Harry no information as to what the three items would give its owner, what powers did the Master of Death adopt?

“Harry,” Nagini hissed, moving so she could face the teen. “Let’s have a shower.” She requested, inching her way onto Harry’s lap. She used her snout to push the book away, and Harry chuckled at her antics.

“Alright, alright.” He agreed, moving the book off his lap. Nagini took this as an invitation to move further onto his legs. The teen shook his head before stroking her scales.

He’d have plenty of time to think about The Deathly Hallows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, what's up?
> 
> Didn't have time to do much writing, but I promised this chapter today <3


End file.
